


A Mandalorian and a Smuggler

by bucknstevie



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Choking, Eventual Smut, F/M, Force-Sensitive Reader, Light Dom/sub, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reader-Insert, Rough Sex, Slow Build, Slow Burn, fem!reader - Freeform, possessive Mando, slight edging
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:33:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 62,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28465356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bucknstevie/pseuds/bucknstevie
Summary: You've become quite a good spice smuggler. You always managed to slip through the New Republic's fingers. After meeting a friend on Kijimi, you planned to get the hell off that planet quietly, but with someone like the Mandalorian hunting you down, maybe this time you've met your match.story deviates from canon circa episode 12 "The Siege" but will still have *some* similarities.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You, Mando/you, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader
Comments: 23
Kudos: 102





	1. Kijimi

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! firstly, thank you for even considering to read this. I've never written something in the second-person so this is a learning curve for me. Secondly, the first chapter mostly establishes the reader, where they are, how they got to this point and blah blah, but Mando does appear in the chapter!!
> 
> I edited this so many times, I had to stop somewhere or else I'd never actually post it. There might be some typos but I just needed stop and just post it so hopefully it all makes sense?
> 
> Warnings: there is a scene where the reader has to cauterize a wound so read with caution

You're sitting in a booth at the back of the cantina. Periodically, you take the time to scan your surroundings. There’s a steady flow of individuals coming in and out, therefore it’s hard to keep track of everyone, but you try to monitor their movements anyway. Being in such a crowded area is risky right now, but when Tye asked you to meet him on Kijimi, you couldn’t pass up the opportunity to catch up. Besides, you’re currently on a work hiatus, and now seemed like the perfect time to get back into the spice smuggling game.

It’s not that you wouldn’t have been able to do anything else. You’re quite skillful with your hands because you used to help your father fix ships back on Tatooine. Theoretically, you could have kept doing that for the rest of your days, but there was always a part of you deep down that made you believe you were meant for more important things. Granted, this isn’t _exactly_ what you had in mind, but it is considerably more exhilarating than just cleaning and fixing ships.

It was Tye who first mentioned this “job”. You were busy fixing a T-14 hyperdrive generator that had been destroyed during a dumb gambling game of chicken. Why people would purposely charge at each other _in_ space, you’ll never understand.

Anyway, he knew you were starting to get tired of the same routine every day. He could see it in the way your shoulders slumped while you were working, and how your voice grew tired of talking about re-wiring, and the maintenance of spaceships.

Ever since you were a child, your father had taken you with him to work and you loved it. You loved being able to spend time with your father and also learn the ins and outs of any spaceship. You could probably take a whole ship apart and put it back together in less than a week, but ever since your parents died, the work became mundane and repetitive. You no longer enjoyed doing the work. You did it just to get by.

“It’s a fairly easy job,” He started to say. You were sitting with your legs crossed, hyperdrive in your lap, rewiring the chunk of metal. “We meet the manufacturer on Kijmi and then come back to Tatooine and bring it to the client.”

“I don’t know, Tye,” You craved adventure, but your friend had a bad habit of getting into trouble. Unlike you, he didn’t have a steady job. Instead, he took whatever was offered to him, no matter how legit it was. You were usually the voice of reason and tried your best to get him on a straight path, but his spirit always craved danger, and while you fantasized about going on epic adventures, you tried to keep it on the legal sides of things.

Tye laid a hand on your shoulder, and in turn you looked up at him. His eyes were gentle, inviting and trusting. More often than not, you attempted your best to avoid his gaze whenever he tried to reel you into something because you knew as soon as you’d look at him, your walls would come crumbling down and whatever he asked you to do would get done. You crossed your left arm over your torso, placed your hand over his, and let a deep breath escape your lips.

“What are we transporting?” You asked, rising to your feet to look at him properly.

He hesitated to answer. Biting down on his bottom lip, his eyes broke contact and shifted down to his feet.

“Tye?” You inquired, leaning down to try to catch his eyes again.

“Uh…” His hand began rubbing the nape of his neck. You came to the conclusion by his behavior that this job wasn’t going to be something along the lines of transporting pieces of scrap metal and he knew you very rarely took on an illegal job. You had done maybe one or two over the years but if you could avoid it, you tried to keep your employment on the side that wouldn’t get your ass thrown in a cell.

“What’s the transport, Tye?” Your voice was more stern this time. This seemed to snap his mind back into reality and he finally met your eyes.

“Spice,” His voice was barely above a whisper and if you weren’t entirely focusing on his tone, you wouldn’t have heard him at all. Your muscles went rigid and you swallowed the lump in your throat you didn’t know was there. Once the empire fell, the New Republic had the impossible task of trying to keep the peace as well as police the entire galaxy, and wherever they were unable to properly govern, spice runners thrived. You had heard stories about spice runners. How every single one was a highly wanted criminal but were almost impossible to find. They worked quietly and discreetly and were able to smuggle spice on pretty much every corner of the galaxy.

“It’s foolproof. They supply the ship and give the location. All we have to do is meet the supplier on Kijimi and then bring the product back here. It’s simple enough,”

You began shaking your head immediately. The risk of getting caught was too high, and spice running was a hard limit for you.

“No, I can’t. What you’re asking is insane, Tye. _Spice running_?” You emphasized the last two words to make sure you heard him clearly.

“I wouldn’t have offered it to you unless I was absolutely sure nothing bad would happen.” Tye reached out and gently pressed his palm to your elbow, begging you to hear him out. “I can see you don’t love doing this anymore. Ever since your parents passed, I could see the passion disappear. It’s completely drained out of you. We do this one job and then you can go back to fixing hyperdrives in this kriffing hangar.” He waved his arms around the store. “Don’t you want to see what else is out there?”

You opened your mouth to protest but the words never came. He was right. Since you were a child, you dreamed of leaving Tatooine. You were tired of the sand, of the heat, of the kriffing dryness that was always eating at your skin. You dreamed of worlds where lush green ran rampant. Trees that grew so high you couldn’t make out the top. Grass that would tickle your hips as you travelled through it. Clean, fresh oxygen instead of the dry, dirty air you had grown accustomed to here. You had heard stories from travelers whose ships you’d fix about waterfalls, lakes, beaches. A large body of water? All these things you couldn’t even fathom. How beautiful must it be to live on a planet where water wasn’t fucking scarce. What did an actual shower feel like? Not some sonic shower that merely got you sterile enough to do about your daily business, but an _actual_ shower, with water.

So yeah, you wanted to get the fuck off of Tatooine, but was this really the only option you had?

Tye could sense your apprehensiveness, but he knew the idea was tempting. Closing the gap between you, he wrapped his arms around your body. He was much larger than you, and you almost disappeared in his embrace. Taking a deep breath in his chest, you let yourself imagine a better life.

A life where you got to visit new worlds, encounter people from different walks of life, an existence where you _truly_ got to experience the greatest things the galaxy had to offer. As a child, you’d lie in your cot and wish for an extraordinary life. One you could recount to your kids with awe, not wasting your years away on a desert planet that no longer had anything to give you. When your family passed away, you worked yourself to the bone, trying to lose yourself in repairing ships. You wished someone; anyone, would help you escape off this godforsaken wasteland one day.

 _You’d regret not taking the risk_ , you thought to yourself.

Before you knew the words had slipped from your lips, you were agreeing to the job.

* * *

You’ve been a spice runner ever since, and you were pretty damn good at your job too. Since your frame was relatively small, it was easy for you to slip in and out of towns without ever being seen, and because you had been working on crafts your whole life, you had become pretty good at flying them too. You had made an impressive name for yourself. Even if you had someone on your tail, you were always able to lose them once you left the port. Your movements were sharp as a tack and was always thinking one step ahead. It enabled you to outrun any hunter or whatever sad, inexperienced New Republic officer that tried to snag you. When you first joined, all your runs were with Tye, but soon after getting accustomed to _how_ runs operated, you were able to go solo. After realizing how much quicker the job went by without having to rely on another person, you became a strict lone wolf. On your own, you could take higher risks, and that made the thrill of the job even more exhilarating. You had become quite the adrenaline junkie, taking some chances even your fellow smugglers would find questionable.

On one job, you were purposely sloppy and let some officers tail you right up to the moment you fought them off _in_ your ship just because of the way the blood in your veins fired through your body. The threat of being caught ignited every nerve-ending in your body, and you constantly chased that feeling.

You were staying on a quiet, uneventful planet when you had gotten a hologram from Tye asking to meet you on Kijimi. “For old time’s sake” he said. Since you had no other run lined up, you figured it was a good time to meet him. It had been a couple months since you last saw him, and now seemed like the perfect time to catch up. Maybe he had a job in mind, too.

The life of a spice runner typically wasn’t very long. It was a physically exhausting profession, and often times a spice runner would get captured by either a bounty hunter or an officer of the New Republic, or die at the hands of a rival smuggler. You knew your days as a runner was limited, so you made sure to have the time of your life while you had the opportunity.

Lately though, a lot of your peers were getting caught by some highly skilled hunter. Whoever it was had managed to trap four of your closest counterparts and you were on high alert. No one had ever been able to snatch _that_ many smugglers in such a short period of time, and your particular crew was starting to get anxious. The runs were beginning to get more sporadic, and spending more time underground, only going out when absolutely necessary, hence the reason you were camping out on lightly populated planet. Technically, you shouldn’t even be in this cantina right now. You _should_ be laying low, waiting for the right moment to jump back into action, but because you now have a taste for the wilder things in life, you take the chance anyway. Plus, if Tye is still walking around then it couldn’t be _that_ bad. He had become a lot more cautious than you, so you’re not all that worried.

You continue to keep your head down, only peering up whenever you hear the door opening. From the corner of your eye, you catch the glimpse of a dark maroon shape coming through the door. _Tye_. He preferred to wear dark colors, as not to draw any attention to himself. Tonight, he’s wearing a dark maroon jumpsuit, a long-ranged rifle strapped around his back. You—on the other hand, believed hiding in plain sight. You tended to wear neutral, earthy colors. It permitted you to blend in with your surroundings. Every run, you’d switch your uniform according to the conditions of the planet. White for cold environments, dark clothes for desolate, bleak planets, and so on.

He stands in the doorway of the cantina, taking a scan of the bar. He knows you usually like to sit in the back so that you have eyes on everyone that comes and goes, and it doesn’t take long for him to spot you. He walks over to your booth with a kind of swagger you’ve grown to love about him. He’s a pretty confident man, without being cocky. The way he carries himself has always fascinated you. His shoulders are always back, arms swaying at his sides, never looking down. He takes long strides as he saunters over to where you’re sitting. As you both have grown, he also has become a pretty well-respected member of your crew and he exudes that in his every step.

You scoot out of your booth to meet him as he gets closer to your table. Big toothy smiles are exchanged between the two of you and he just about runs to close the space between you. His large arms quickly pull you to his chest and all the air nearly punches right out of your lungs. He actually lifts you a couple inches off the ground in your embrace.

“Tye! I have a reputation over here. You can’t just pick me up like that,” However, you’re unable to hide the joy in your tone. You’ve missed him more than you realized. Yeah, you prefer doing jobs alone, but sometimes the solitude can get the best of you. Having someone to banter with, play sabacc with—you miss it, but you both have very different ways of transporting the product, so you know the days of you working together are long gone.

Tye finally lets you down and you both slide into the booth, sitting opposite of each other. You still have a clear view of the door.

“You couldn’t have picked a better shithole to meet?” You remark.

It’s not that Kijimi was a total shithole, it’s just that it was the _biggest_ shithole of a planet you could ever set foot on. The weather was brutal, the people even more so. The New Republic wasn’t able to control the crime here, so criminal activity ran rampant here. Luckily, the main interest in the city was spice smuggling so you had the respect of most of the local spice lords, but there was always the threat of some travelers who couldn’t care less who you were or how important you were to come after you; to kill without mercy and take your corpse to the New Republic. Therefore, you tried to limit your visits unless they were absolutely necessary.

“I figured since we haven’t been together on Kijimi in a while, it might be worth the visit,” Tye answers honestly. Lifting a hand to the bartender behind the bar, they rushed over holding an empty cup in one hand a jug of bright blue liquid in the other. They place the jug between the both of you. Tye reaches into his pockets and places come credits on the table, giving the tender a small nod before they excuse themselves, grabbing the credits and stuffing them in a small bag that was tied to their waist.

“How nostalgic of you,” You mock, lighthearted enough for it to make him chuckle.

Despite trying to keep your mind focused on Tye, part of you is still observing the door behind him. In the short time you’ve been smuggling, not only had your reputation amongst other smugglers grown, but so had the price on your head. The last few jobs had been particularly difficult. Not only were you trying to fight off New Republic officers, but several bounty hunters had been tracking you. Apparently, you had become a huge pain in the ass. Unfortunately for them, that just made the game way more interesting, and honestly it _really_ fueled your ego.

“Any news on the next run?” You inquire. It had been a few weeks since you last had a contract, and the itch for adventure was starting to get under your skin.

Tye’s eyebrows furrow. He looks at you quizzically. “I didn’t ask you to meet you to tell you about another run. I just wanted to see my best friend.”

“Oh come on. There’s _always_ another job. Always someone who needs spice and someone who wants to get rid of it.”

He looks at you like he doesn’t know you. Leaning back in his seat, he begins shaking his head in disbelief.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You can feel beads of anger building deep inside you. _He_ was the one that got you into this, and now he has the audacity to look at you like he doesn’t know you?

“You’ve changed.”

You scoff and let out a laugh, a laugh that drips with irritation. “Of course I’ve changed, Tye. Did you really think I was going to stay the doe-eyed girl you met on Tatooine?”

Tye reaches over and pours spotchka in both cups before taking his and throwing his head back to swallow every bit of it. “No,” He begins to say, using the back of his tunic to wipe his mouth clean. “I think those two young kids who grew up on Tatooine are long gone.”

Your lips form into a firm line, not entirely sure how to respond without sounding too cynical.

“I’ve heard stories, you know.”

“Oh have you, now?” Your eyebrow raises, and elbows firmly plant on the tabletop. The joy seems to drain from his face. Smile disappearing, and his eyes begin wandering, looking everywhere but into yours. Curiosity is starting to get the best of you, your eyes squinting and burning into him. Testing to see how he reacts; you push him again. “And what have you heard, Tye?”

Green eyes still refusing to meet yours, he’s busy eyeing his fingers that are fidgeting on the piece of wood that separates you. “That you’re becoming _too_ reckless,” His voice is steady, but much lower than his usual tone. “You’re taking too many risks and causing problems where there doesn’t have to be.”

Your hard expression scorches into him. He starts squirming in his seat. Back on Tatooine, it would have been the other way around: you succumbing to his will, but now you’re the one with authority.

“Look,” He says, leaning in towards you. “I’m not gonna sit here and tell you how to do the job. I know you’re good at it.” There’s regret in his voice. It hasn’t gone unnoticed how he looks at you occasionally, almost like he’s ashamed of what he’s done to you. If it wasn’t for that day, you wouldn’t have turned out the way you have. You think he wants to take it all back. Wishing that you stayed some nobody who lived their life fixing and repairing shit.

“But I’m told you have a high bounty on your head. Maybe it’s best if you continue to lay low for a while. Just until the heat cools down.”

You chew on your bottom lip, and your body relaxes into the booth behind you. Deep down you know he’s right. He just wants for you to be safe and admittedly, the way you’ve been acting lately is as if you think you’re invincible. You chase the thrill and the danger but it’s just making everyday life so much harder. Some merchants are too scared to sell to you, locals steer clear of you, and those who aren’t scared get too confident and try to pick fights with you. Despite your size, you’re able to carry your own surprisingly well during a fight. You don’t quite understand it yourself. Each time you’ve had to defend yourself, there was an energy you conjured that came from deep inside you that helped you manipulate your opponent. This energy allowed you to levitate objects or people in mid-air, assisted you to kill them without ever touching them, or even influence them to say and do what you wanted them to.

It was after a late night of sabacc. You were on your way back to your ship when three male figures blocked your path in a nearby alley. Three blasters pointed directly at you.

“Can’t let you pass, sweetheart.” One of them sneered.

Bounty hunters.

One hand slowly glided to the blaster strapped to your upper thigh, the other extending in front of you. “Okay, fellas. I’m sure we can make a deal here.”

“Don’t try that shit with us. You couldn’t possibly come close to the price the Republic is offering.” The man in the middle—a Twi’ you realize, warned.

“The bounty asks to bring you in alive, so let’s not compromise that, okay sweetheart?”

Adrenaline and wrath were starting to seep into your muscles. If there’s one thing you _hated_ , it was chauvinistic men calling you ‘sweetheart’.

“Call me sweetheart again, and it’ll be the last thing you ever say.”

All three men’s cackle echoed through the stone walls.

“I’d hate to ruin a pretty hair on that head, but if you’re going to act like a little bitch then maybe—”

Cutting him off, one of their blasters wiggled out of their reach and smacked the first hunter right in the face before he could finish his threat, blood spraying from his mouth. Your blaster found its way into your hand, raising it to strike him straight in the chest. Simultaneously, your left hand targeted the second assailant’s throat, your hands violently gripping around the pressure of his neck. The hunter attempted to scream, his hands wrapping around his throat as your grip tightened. Fire consumed you, and as your grip on the man’s throat intensified, his body started to lift off the ground. The Twi’ eyes nearly bulged out of his sockets; horror plastered on his face.

“What the fuck are you?!” The Twi’s voice bellowed, spitting as he charged at you, a vibroblade in each hand. Your eyes shifted to him coming right at you with pure fury in his eyes.

“Come here, you little bitch!” He roared.

You let your hold of his partner relax slightly, then your arm swung to the right, forcing the hunter to lift completely off the ground. Once he became jelly in your grasp, you launch him towards the Twi. Both men slammed into the concrete wall next to them. You heard the sound of skull making contact with the cement, then watched them fall to the ground hard. The Twi cried out, “Please don’t!” but you blasted him right between the eyes before he could say anything else.

You stood there, chest heaving. Your eyes examined the men in front of you, not fully understanding how you were able to fight them off. You were outnumbered and they were much larger than you were. Holding out your hands, you stared down at your palms. Squeezing your eyes shut, you tried to focus on the power that expelled from your fingertips. Where did it come from? How do you control it? What was happening to you?

You had never felt such power before. For a moment, you were no longer in control of your movements. In that split second where you gave into that rage, it bended you to its will, driving you to do cause more harm than necessary. This voice inside of you _wanted_ them to hurt, for them to suffer, and you couldn’t resist it.

Tye repeatedly calling you brings you back to the present. “You okay?”

Shaking your head, the corner of your mouth curls into a smile. “Fine.”

* * *

The rest of the evening is much more lighthearted. After the initial awkward tension between the two of you, you’re able to enjoy a couple drinks of spotchka and reminisce about old times. You’ve definitely missed his company. Tye is the closest thing you have to family and you cherish him deeply. Your energies mesh together so well, and you have to admit, sometimes you daydream about settling down together, living on a quiet planet and drinking spotchka for the rest of your days until you’re finally arrested. Those are quickly replaced by reality, because the reality is, it’s just not attainable anymore.

The cantina never empties, no matter what time of day it is, and given that there aren’t any windows, you have no clue as to what time it is anymore. You came in just as the sun was setting—what little sun is even offered on Kijimi. It’s easily been a couple hours since then, and you begin to feel the fatigue creeping up on you.

“Where are you staying?” You ask, stretching your arms and your back as much as you can in the booth.

“I have a place not too far from here. It’s tiny, but it’s not like I spend enough time on this planet to need anything bigger. You can stay with me for the night, if you want?”

“That’s okay,” You start to say, shaking your head. “I’m probably going to leave first thing in the morning anyway. I don’t like to linger.”

Tye’s head bobs a few times. “Sure. I have a couple things I need to take care of here before I can leave.”

You cock your head to the left. _What could he possibly have to do_? You don’t ask though. It’s a common thing for smugglers not to ask questions. Staying in the dark about your crew’s whereabouts and jobs make it easy not to catch too many folks in the same squad. It’s how smugglers have been able to evade capture. If one person is snatched in a team, it’s almost impossible to catch another because chances are, they have no idea what anyone else is up to.

“I should probably head back to my ship then,”

After announcing your leave, you both shimmy out of the booth and rise to your feet. Tye is the first to move into your body and wrap his biceps around your entire torso. Quickly, your arms find their way around his back and you allow yourself to sink into his body. You’ve missed the warmth of another person. For a second, you allow yourself to be vulnerable and really appreciate the physical intimacy. Tye’s the one who finally breaks the embrace, but he keeps you at arm’s length, both hands squeezing your shoulders. Yours drop at your sides and you can’t stop the grin that forms on your lips.

“Sometimes I can hardly believe we used to be a bunch of nobodies on Tatooine,” He says. Before you can come up with a snarky remark, he leans in and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Bye, kiddo.” Slapping some credits on the table, he turns on his heel and heads to the door.  
“You’re not even a year older!” You shout, and you’re not entirely sure he hears you given the amount of noise in the cantina, but you see his shoulders bounce, so you assume he heard you. You linger for a couple minutes, finishing off the remaining spotchka on the table. Once you’ve downed the final drop, you thank the bartender for their kind service, toss them some coins and head out the door.

It’s in the late hours when the cold Kijimi winds hit your face. The freezing air is a drastic change from the heat of the cantina and the cold immediately sends chills down your spine. Pulling your hood over your head, you cross your arms across your chest, trying to conserve a little bit of heat. The streets are dimly lit and dirty with mud and snow. It’s a long, dangerous trek back to your ship, so you keep your head down but still keeping an eye out for any potential mercenary or hunter who might want that pretty bounty on your head. Keeping your hand close to the blaster strapped to your thigh, you dart through stone made arches, and small huts. Instead of taking the straight route, you opt to zig-zag through the city, knowing it would be more difficult to track your footsteps this way. It takes more time, but you know this is the safer way to go.

The cold is starting to really get to you, now. Despite wearing gloves, the tips of your fingers are starting to go numb and you thank the Maker once you catch a glimpse of your ship not too far into the distance. You fight the urge to walk straight towards it, instead listening to your gut. You come to an alley, lit only by a small streetlight that’s flickering slowly.

“I can’t wait to get off this shithole of a planet,” You whisper to yourself.

Just as you turn the corner of the alley, you suddenly feel a presence behind you. The adrenaline pumps through your veins, causing your heart to pulse quicker than you’ve felt in a long time. Any sound person would be afraid, knowing they were in for a bout, but not you. No, you _chase_ this feeling on your runs. This is when you thrive.

You stand tall, straightening your shoulders and slowly turn to where you assume the figure is behind you. At the end of the alley, you see the shape of a man—what you think is a man, anyway. The light bounces off the blob in front of you, and realize they’re covered almost head-to-toe in shiny armor. A droid?

“Can I help you?” You question. Your hand rests directly over your blaster, slowly flicking the safety off.

The mystery man/droid doesn’t say anything. He stands completely still, and for the first time in a long time, panic prods at you. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you take a deep breath, hoping it’ll calm the nerves in your stomach.

“Can I help you?” You say through gritted teeth.

Again, you hear nothing.

You stand your ground, refusing to run from the figure. You’ve never been one to run from a fight, and you’re not about to start now. “I’m going to give you one more chance to tell me who the hell you are before I blast you on your ass.” Your voice is stern, now becoming more annoyed with the fact that they haven’t said anything. What the hell is this thing’s problem?

The figured dressed in armor takes a small step forward and finally speaks. “I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold,” His voice comes out low, but is nothing short of terrifying.

You suddenly realize who stands fifteen feet in front of you. It’s _him_. The hunter who’s created quite the name for himself. The bounty hunter who almost every smuggler has grown to fear. The one who _never_ lets a bounty get away.

The Mandalorian.

As much as you are terrified right now, you can’t help but let a little bit of pride consume you. For the New Republic to have _him_ come after you, it means they’ve gotten desperate. It also means they see you as a threat, and that makes you feel good. So good in fact, that you accidentally let a chuckle escape you.

“How much are they paying you?”

No answer.

You know he’s going to blast you any moment, and you’re trying to buy yourself some time.

“Oh come on. If I’m gonna go down, I should at least know how much I’m worth, don’t you think?”

Your ship is a quick sprint away (if you go straight ahead) but you’re not stupid enough to do that. He’s probably none the wiser and thinks you would, so you have that advantage. Instead, you know running to your left is the _safer_ option. Even though there’s no actual street to your left, you did notice a split in the foundation just big enough for your body to slide through and make it to the next adjacent path, but you’ll need to do it quick. You gauge your assailant’s body language. He’s standing with his legs shoulder-width apart and you think you see his hand resting on his blaster, but you can’t be sure. You do catch the shadow of a rifle strapped to his back, and you know that that armor looks expensive which means it’s probably beskar, which unfortunately for you is basically indestructible. No amount of blasts will penetrate that armor.

Thinking impulsively, you grab the blaster out of your holster and shoot the light, hoping he’ll struggle to find your shape in the dark and praying to the Maker that it’ll give you enough time to wiggle through the stone walls. You sprint for the wall and see blaster fire shoot passed your head. _Fuck, he must have night-vision with that helmet_.

You manage to squeeze through the crack and end up on the other side. Most likely he’d come by the right, so you avoid that side entirely. Breaking into a sprint, you run down the cobblestoned road. It’s horribly uneven and you trip a few times, but always manage to recover without actually falling. The air cuts at your face and makes it harder to breathe but you persevere. If you were to stop, even for a moment, you risk getting caught. Your mind is running a million miles a minute, trying not to look back but also trying to imagine the more tactical way to capture you. Before you can think of your next move, the door to a hut opens and someone seizes your left arm and pulls you into the house with such force, it almost feels like your arm was ripped right out of its socket. The door shuts behind you immediately but before you can make a sound, Tye’s hand comes to cover your mind.

“Shh,” he warns, pressing a finger from his free hand to his lips.

You nod and he releases the grip he had over your mouth.

Tye crouches near the window by the door, checking to see if the hunter is out there.

“I can’t see him,” He says, turning his gaze towards you. You move from the doorway and crouch next to him by the window. Both of you continue to scan the street, looking for any sign of the attacker.

After a few minutes of looking with no luck, you conclude that he’s lost you. You retreat from the window to examine the room. It’s tiny, the bed almost immediately to your left and you wonder how anyone could possibly sleep there. The door is just a few feet away and you can assume the cold penetrates the door easily enough. Sleeping there must be miserable. The only source of light emanates from a few candles scattered throughout the room.

“This is my place,” Tye explains before you can ask. “It’s not much but it’s better than sleeping in one of the taverns.” He passes you and lowers himself in an armchair, rubbing the palms of his hands against his face.

“How did you know?”

“Call it intuition.”

The adrenaline is slowly wearing off and now you feel an ache in your bicep. You look down and notice a section of your coat has been ripped right off. Then you notice blood, a lot of it.

“Maker!” Tye all but jumps right out of his seat and rushes to your side. Gently grabbing your elbow, he inspects your wound. It’s pretty deep and will need to be cauterized.

Realizing it at the same time, your eyes meet. “Just do it.” You whisper to break the silence.

“I can use bacta spray instead. It’ll hurt less,” He says, before turning towards the cupboards, rummaging through the shelves and tossing whatever he can find, on the ground. You carefully remove your coat without touching the gash on your arm.

“Bacta spray will hard to find at this hour,” Your voice is barely above a whisper. The pain is starting to disorient you, and you manage to sit down on the bed before collapsing. “Just do it, Tye.”

Your friend stops searching for the spray, and he’s quickly by your side again with a clean cloth. He begins wiping the blood away. It stings and you swear under your breath.

“If you think _this_ hurts…” His voice trails off. Yeah, you both know cauterizing it will hurt even more.

Trying to lighten the tension, you force a laugh. “Don’t worry. I’m a big girl, I can handle it.”

It’s true. You’ve broken bones and you’ve been hit a lot worse. If you ever manage to successfully make a run without injuring yourself, it’s a miracle. This is nothing new.

Tye leaves your side to warm up his vibroblade on one of the candles nearby. Once the blade is steaming, he returns to you. He holds out the blade, and you take it from his hand. Releasing a deep breath, you hold the blade to your arm and press it into your flesh. It sizzles and smells awful. Tye squeezes his eyes shut, like he thinks it’ll stop the whole ordeal. You stifle down the scream that desperately tries to come to the surface, and groan instead. Pressing the blade to your skin in short bursts, the blood slowly stops spewing and the pain from the actual blast begins to subside. Once the sting begins to slow, you drop the blade on the ground. Tye’s eyebrows relax as he inspects your skin.

“You should still put some bacta spray on that, to avoid getting it infected.”

Nodding slowly, you let out another deep breath through your lips. “I have some on my ship. I’ll head out in the morning and hopefully get to it before metal man out there can get me.” You try to be lighthearted with a joke. Tye either doesn’t catch it or think it’s funny because he’s shaking his head at you. He meets your eyes and whispers your name. “Having a Mandalorian after you is serious business. Those guys don’t fuck around.”

You sit up straight and look at his defensively. “Yeah, I know Tye.”

“Do you? Because you’re still making jokes. Do you know that Mandalorians are like the best killers in the galaxy?”

That sends daggers through your entire body. You rise to your feet, slowly until you’re almost towering over him. “I’m well aware of their abilities, Tye.”

“Why do I get the feeling that this is just a giant ego boost for you?”

That you actually scoff at. “Kriff…” Taking a step away from him, your hands rest on your hips. “Am I a little proud that they had to get a _Mandalorian_ to arrest me? Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to act reckless and change my tacti-“

“But you _are_ reckless!” Tye pushes against his knees to stand eye level with you. “You always do this. This is why no one wants to work with you!”

Your eyes widen, mouth dropping. “I don’t _want_ to work with anyone _because_ they slow me down!”

Immediately, your friend’s shaking his head. “No, that’s not why. Everyone’s deemed you too dangerous to actually work with. It’s a miracle you haven’t been caught yet.”

You try to interject but Tye holds a hand up to stop you. “I’m not done. Yeah, you’re good at smuggling, probably one of the best, but at what cost? Where’s the girl that was gentle, kind? Where’s that girl who would fix ships with her dad and play in the sand dunes with me? That girl who nursed an injured womp rat back to health because you saw some stupid kids shoot at it? Where did my best friend go?”

The laugh that erupts in the room is anything but joyful. It’s resentful, it’s anger. Your best friend stands inches away from your face, insulting who you are. Who _he_ essentially created.

“She grew up, Tye! My parents died and left me all alone on a planet that shouldn’t even exist. I had _no choice._ You think a ‘gentle, kind’ girl can survive in this galaxy?”

Tye’s fists ball up at his sides. “I miss that girl. Who you are now, it’s not who I remember. This job has tainted you.”

“Well, maybe you should have thought of that before you dragged me into this world five years ago!”

“Don’t do that…” His shoulders drop, his head hanging in defeat.

“I love you Tye, but I _can_ take care of myself. I’m not scared of some Mandalorian. I’m not afraid of anything.” _A lie, but you refuse to look weak._

“I know…” He admits, his head still looking at the ground. “That’s the problem.”

A few moments pass in silence. Neither of you try to break the apprehension in the air. You can sense that Tye’s been waiting a long time to admit that. That he doesn’t like what you’ve become, and maybe he’s right. Maybe you do act impulsively, maybe you do put yourself at risk unnecessarily just to fill this void inside of you. A void that’s been eating at you since you were a child, but it’s not something you want to hear right now, or maybe ever.

“I’m heading to my ship.” Grabbing your coat off the cot, you slip into it, groaning as the material slides against your sensitive flesh.

That appears to snap Tye out of his thoughts because he looks right into your eyes.

“Please don’t. He’s probably still out there.”

“Well it’s like you said,” Usually, your voice is soft. You’ve never spoken to Tye with such anger before, but something inside of you now sees him in a different light. You resent him. “I’m _too_ reckless.” You growl.

Tye mouth is agape and it almost looks like tears are forming in the corners of his eyes. He takes a step back like he’s been stabbed, which I guess is true. Your tone said it all.

You both realize at the same time that this is probably the last time you’ll see each other.

Turning on your heel, you head towards the door. “Take care, Tye.” You say over your shoulder before pressing the button to open the entrance. It lifts off the ground and you step out, not even looking at your surroundings before throwing the hood back over your head and heading straight for your ship.

 _If you want me, come get me, Mandalorian_.

You’re not careful about the walk to the ship. You’re not careful passing corners or getting to the port. You’re behaving stupidly on purpose. You _want_ to fight him; you _want_ to prove to everyone and yourself that not even a Mandalorian can catch you. It’s extremely naïve but your blood’s boiling and its currently clouding your judgement. You spot your ship and march towards it, without a damn care in the world. Clicking the button on your bracelet, the ramp opens, and you begin to walk towards the slope. Once your foot touches the metal, you catch a glimpse of something shiny at the very top of the ramp. A sly smile creeps on your lips.

“You know, it’s rude to hijack someone’s ship.” You peer up at him.

The Mandalorian’s tense, with his hand hovering over the blaster strapped to his right thigh. Legs once again spread shoulder width apart, he oozes authority. The metal—beskar, glistening against the moonlight. You fight the submissiveness that begins to creep up on you. You refuse to show him weakness. If you’re gonna get caught, you’re gonna make sure you put up a fight.

Your strides up the ramp get smaller and smaller. Adrenaline fully pumping now through your entire body. You wonder how close he’ll let you get to him before blasting you right off your feet.

“I do have to admit, getting caught by a mandalorian is pretty admirable.” You taunt.

His hand gets closer to the blaster and you think this is your moment. Just as he rips the blaster from its holster and fires at you, your right hand comes up, catching the blast mid-air and deflecting it. It hits one of the cargo boxes and explodes. Before he can fire another shot, the blaster is ripped right out of his hand and goes flying into your palm. As soon as you get both blasters in your hands, a grappling line exits his vambrace and wraps tightly around your ankles, causing you to slightly lose your balance. He pulls hard on the rope and it sends you flying backwards. Your head hits the metal hard, and for a second your vision begins to fog. You blink repeatedly, trying to get your damn vision to clear, but before you can even begin to push yourself to the ground, the Mandalorian is hovering over your body. One leg on each side of your thighs, he leans down and grasps both your wrists with one hand and straps some binds around them. You give it one last ditch effort and try to kick up at him, but his reflexes are surprisingly quick and catches your calf with his free hand.

“Maybe if you stayed with your friend, you might’ve gotten away without me catching you.” He says through the helmet. The baritone of his voice immediately causes your breathing to hitch. Your heart is pounding in your chest and heat begins to form in your stomach.

“Then again,” He begins to say, pulling you to your feet. “because you’re so careless, I’d find you again.”

In any other circumstance, you’d have a sly comment, but right now you can’t even remember how to speak. Once on your feet, you notice just how _big_ he actually is. Sure, the armor might add to his demeanor, but you can’t help but be intimidated now. He towers over you, and you have to strain your neck just to look at him. You try to see his eyes through the ‘T’ of his visor, but it’s too tinted. He loops his forearm around your bound arms and guides you down the ramp.

“I can walk on my own, you know?”

The Mandalorian doesn’t answer. He simply continues to drag you whichever way he wants. As you make your way to his ship, your heart is still hammering in your chest. The way he carries himself, you’ve never seen anything like it. He’s definitely intense, but nothing short of fucking mesmerizing. Most of the hunters you’ve encountered were cruel and mouthy. But the Mandalorian? He barely spoke to you; he didn’t let his any emotion come through. You can outtalk any hunter, but you couldn’t do that with him. He was one step ahead of you, which you have to admit has never happened before.

Once you reach what you assume is his ship, you can’t help but be taken aback by it.

“Whoa, is that a pre-Empire ship? I didn’t think those things still existed.”

He says nothing, as per usual. In the _very_ short time you’ve known the Mandalorian, you noticed he’s a man of few words.

You’ve spent your whole life around ships, but you’ve never seen one quite like this. It’s pretty dated and looks in pretty shit condition, honestly. Several panels are completely dented, and whatever isn’t dented is scratched up badly. You can tell it’s been in a good number of shootouts. It’s a miracle this ship is still operational.

He presses a button on his vambrace, and the ramp opens up, creaking as it lowers to the ground. The Mandalorian lets go of the grip he had on you, and gently pushes you in front of him, instructing you to walk ahead of him. You head up the ship, turning back to look over your shoulder one more time. In that moment, reality hits you. You’ve been caught. You’re going to live the rest of your days in a cell. Actually, with your reputation, you’d be lucky if you get a cell. The New Republic will probably have you sentenced to death. While you didn’t expect to live to an old age, you didn’t think you’d die this young, but it comes with the job description. Everyone’s gonna get it sooner or later, and unfortunately for you, it seems like the former.

You take notice of the three other quarries in carbonite to your right. Heating beating so fast, you’re sure it’ll burst out of your chest, you start babbling.

“Please don’t put me in carbonite,” You plead, turning around to face your captor. He’s already closed the ramp and is busy removing the rifle off his back, placing it back on the wall of the ship. “You already have me in binds, I can’t go anywhere. I won’t cause any more trouble. Just _please_ , no carbonite.”

At first, he doesn’t bother to look at you. He lingers there for a few seconds, probably arguing with himself on the best way to handle you. Your eyes burn into his helmet, praying to the Maker that he’ll give into you. You’re chewing down on your bottom lip so hard, you’re sure you’ll break skin. Eventually, he turns to face you and begins a slow, tantalizing walk towards you. Panic overwhelms you, and you begin to shake your head frantically. Since when did you become such a submissive? Under any other circumstance, you’d be throwing insults, trying to get under his skin, manipulating words in an effort to aggravate them. You might even try to manipulate him into doing what you ask but your brain is shut off. You can barely form a coherent thought. Therefore, you resort to begging and pleading with the Mandalorian.

You can’t stop your body from trembling, and as he reaches to grab your wrist, you shudder at his touch. You swear his glove is on fire because how the hell is it possible that his touch burns into your skin? You keep your head down, not having the strength to meet his visor. You’re crumbling under him, letting him take absolute control of you.

“Up,” is all he says, as he gestures you to the ladder that goes up to the cockpit. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you nod and let him guide you to the ladder. It’s hard to climb with your hands bound but you do your best.

Once you reach the top, you wait for him to catch up. Putting a hand on your lower back, your breathing hitches when he touches you. His hand nearly cover your entire waist and you can’t help but imagine that thick hand wrapped around your throat.

_Maker this shouldn’t be turning you on. He captured you._

He guides you into the seat that’s to the right of the pilot, and then sits himself in the pilot’s seat. He begins the take-off sequence, and the ship’s thrusters roar to life. As the ship lifts off the ground, it creaks and makes you shift in your seat. You take one last look at Kijimi as his ship climbs higher and higher into the air, realizing that for the first time ever, you lost.


	2. The Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know when you're writing and then you go back to edit it and you're like god I actually hate everything I just wrote but you've written way too much to delete everything so you power through it? yeah that's what this chapter is LOL. I don't _hate_ it but it it is what it is.  
> I tried to do some research on hyperdrives and where they might be located but I couldn't find any concrete info so if what I said doesn't make any sense, let me know kindly ok thank youuuuu
> 
> warnings for the chapter are graphic depictions of violence (it's not exactly torture but it does get kind of intense at the end) loss, grief. if there's anything I missed please let me know so I can add it 
> 
> ALSO if you see any typos....no you didn't  
> love you guys and hope you enjoy<3

As the Mandalorian’s ship—Razor Crest, climbs higher and higher into the sky, the sun’s beginning to rise over the city. Taking one last look at the capital, you mentally add “getting snatched by a bounty hunter” to the list of things you _hate_ about Kijimi.

Maker, the silence in the cockpit is deafening. The Mandalorian doesn’t acknowledge you at all, his helmet glued to the windshield of the ship. You think about saying something, _anything_ to break the awkward tension that seems to be multiplying in the small area of the cockpit, but from the very short time you’ve been with him, you don’t get the impression that he likes to talk. So awkward silence it is.

Once in the atmosphere, the Mandalorian prepares to make the jump to hyperspace. The stars’ light twinkles off his chrome helmet, and you’re too busy staring at him to notice another ship zip across the windshield ** _,_** and then within seconds, the radar’s alarm is blaring through the cockpit. The shrill sound is piercing your ears and your eyes wrench shut, as if to try to block the noise out.

Two green beams of light appear out of nowhere, skimming the ship’s hull, and as the enemy spacecraft comes back into your peripheral for just a few seconds, your jaw nearly drops to the floor when you recognize whose ship it is.

It’s _your_ ship. Someone is inside your ship, shooting at you. “That’s my ship!” You shriek, jumping to your feet and quickly making your way to the window. The Mandalorian says nothing in response, just letting out a couple of grunts and huffs. Your ship continues to bombard you with green beams, but the hunter is sharp enough to evade each shot. The jolts cause you to lose balance, and because your hands are still bound, it becomes more difficult for you to keep yourself upright without falling over onto the control panel.

“Get back in your seat,” The Mandalorian says through his visor. His voice is calm but stern. If he was panicking at all, his voice doesn’t give you the slightest suspicion.

You open your mouth to protest, to beg him not to shoot your ship down, to plead with him, but you know it would be a battle you couldn’t possibly win. Fumbling back into the seat to his right, a shot narrowly misses one of the thrusters and hits just above the belly of the ship. It sends you flying out of the seat, and you land on the ground hard, your shoulder taking the brute of the hit.

You hear two more blasts explode against the ship. The Crest is taking a lot of damage right now, but the Mandalorian manages to stay quiet during the entire ordeal.

“Let her go, Mandalorian.” A distorted voice comes through the radio.

Time seems to stop. The sirens still blaring through the cockpit penetrate your ears less and less until they are just a bunch of muffled clamors. That voice can only be from one person. The only other person in this galaxy that knows how to hijack your ship, and _actually_ be able to fly it.

_Tye_.

Without any warning, the Crest begins a steep incline, and just as you’re finally able to seat yourself back in the chair, pulling the seatbelt across your torso and clicking it into place, the Crest flips upside down. If it weren’t for you being strapped in, you’d be flailing around the cockpit. The ship does a full circle before straightening out right behind your ship. The Mandalorian begins firing, three shots immediately pierce the hull’s integrity. The dark nothingness of space is suddenly luminated by a giant inferno; your ship begins plummeting back down towards Kijimi. You want to scream, to rush over to the pilot’s seat and scream into the radio hoping Tye would respond, but your body feels weighed down, like your limbs refuse to work.

As you watch your ship plummet towards the city, life drains from your body. For a moment, everything is still and fast at the same time. You had come to terms with your fate, you aren’t an optimist—not anymore anyway, but when you saw your ship, a flame—no, a _glint_ of hope started to build in your bones. Maybe the Maker was giving you another chance. You were dead wrong.

Once the blaring alarm quiets, the Mandalorian initiates the jump sequence. The whole thing is over within minutes.

The Crest doesn’t spend much time in hyperspace though, because now the hyperdrive alarm is blaring again and you’re both launched right out, the ship spiraling in open atmosphere. The Mandalorian swears under his breath and begins frantically pressing buttons in an attempt to get you back into hyperspace. Despite his efforts, he’s unable to make the jump.

“Dank farrik,” The vocoder comes out strained.

“One of the shots must have damaged the hyperdrive.” You find yourself saying.

“Yes.” Is all you get.

He changes course and begins descending towards a planet you’ve never seen before. From space, the planet looks mostly swamp green, nothing particularly breathtaking or enticing.

“What is that?” You’re not really expecting an answer, just asking out loud, and you’re surprised because he actually answers you this time.

“Sorgan.”

You’ve heard of Sorgan. Some of your crew had resided on the planet since there was a spice smuggling base located there. Given the fact that Sorgan was a relatively unobtrusive planet, it was smart idea to put a camp. It was mostly covered in thick, dense forest which enabled the camp to be hidden fairly easily. Landing on Sorgan was a blessing in disguise. You could possibly send a message to the base there and maybe, just maybe, get rescued. Almost immediately you could feel excitement tingle your nerves. Okay, maybe you hadn’t lost.

Entering Sorgan airspace, the Mandalorian searches for a forest glade. It doesn’t take long for him to spot a small clearing just at the edge of a foliage of massive pine. He descends slowly, making sure not to hit any trees on the way down. You can’t help but be impressed by his flying abilities. He pilots like it is second nature to him. Always maintaining his cool demeanor, even if he is being shot at. Despite the fact that you resent him for possibly murdering the only person left you considered family and stealing your freedom, that aviator part of you is enthralled by the Mandalorian.

Once firmly landed, he cuts the engine and steps out of his seat.

“Stay here,” His voice is as deep as ever, not bothering to meet your eyes as he walks through the door to the cockpit and begins to descend down the ladder.

You linger in your chair for a few minutes, twiddling your thumbs in your lap. You’re not sure _how_ much time you might have to send a message to your fellow smugglers, but you also don’t want to waste any more time waiting on him to come back. Fumbling slightly with your seatbelt, you all but leap towards the pilot’s chair to get to the radio. You finger toggles over the button to record your message. _Why are you hesitating_?

Chewing on your lip, and letting a deep breath exhale through your nose, you fight the urge to retreat back in your seat. Just as you’re about to record, you hear footsteps on the ladder behind you.

“Fuck, fuck _fuck fuckfuck,”_ you curse under your breath and you scramble to get back to your seat without the Mandalorian seeing you. You hear his boots hit the metal floor just as your butt hits the chair. The beskar helmet peaks through the doorway of the cockpit as if he’s just checking to see if you followed his orders.

“No, I haven’t moved,” you say to him, annoyingly.

“Come down.” He instructs, turning on his heel and already making his way down the rungs of the ladder.

“Why?”

The Mandalorian stops in his tracks, “Because I can’t keep an eye on you if you’re in the cockpit.”

You really don’t want to go down there. Not because you’re scared he’ll throw your ass in carbonite, but because if he gets you down there, you’ll have no reason to get back up here and send out a message to any smuggler who might want to help you. 

“You can trust me.” It’s a desperate attempt. Usually you can use your charm to bend others to your will, but the Mandalorian is unlike anyone you’ve ever met. You already know it won’t work.

“No.”

Pressing your hands down on your knees, you push yourself to your feet. You eye the control panel one last time and actually consider locking yourself in the bridge just long enough to get a message out. While the idea becomes more and more tempting by the second, you need to be smart about this. If you plan on escaping or getting a message out, it has to be perfectly timed and planned. It didn’t take him long to catch you, and you need to be a lot smarter the next time around.

So you head down the ladder like he told you to. The ramp is down, and your feet irk to run down the ridge and escape into the lush forest in front of you. Every instinct inside of you is screaming to run, to take your chances and hope to lose him in the fog of the greenery, but you have no idea where you are on this planet. You have no idea if the camp is relatively close to you or not. If you ran now, you’d have no supplies, no sense of direction, never mind the fact that your hands are still bound.

First things first then; get him to release the shackles.

He’s currently inspecting the damage Tye inflicted on the Crest. The hull of the ship is smoking, and there’s a few new dents on the sides of the ship, but there isn’t any damage that a couple days’ worth of work wouldn’t be able to fix. Luckily for you, that gives you a couple days to think of the best way to take off.

Not entirely sure where to go, you stay by the ladder, standing like an awkward kid waiting to be told what to do.

The Crest is much bigger than you thought it was. Most of the space inside the ship is housing the carbonite chamber with the three other companions you’re convinced you’ll end up joining. Next to the chamber is what you assume is a locker full of armory. You make a mental note to raid that locker before your escape. To your left, there’s a narrow, small cubicle that could only be used for sleep. Even though the door is closed, you can tell that it’s already too cramped for the Mandalorian, and you wonder how he can fit in such a tiny space.

Honestly, you’re more concerned about whether or not he’s ever _had_ anyone in there with him. Surely if the space is too small for him, then he couldn’t possibly have had any lovers in there with him, right? Heat begins to coil in your stomach and the thought of that makes you shift in your stance. You really shouldn’t be thinking of whether or not the Mandalorian’s fucked anybody in his poor excuse of a bed, but you can’t help yourself. It’s been a long time since you’ve had the pleasure of being with a man or even taken care of yourself and it doesn’t help that the Mandalorian exudes this ferocious confidence and control. Does that make you wonder if he’d still as controlling when he’s balls deep inside you? Would be still be quiet like he is now, or would he be a babbling mess?

“Hey.” The voice pulls you out of your thoughts and causes you to jump.

The Mandalorian is standing just arms distance away from you, and _stars_ , he is an absolute sight. Built like a monument—tall, firm and fucking intimidating. In your everyday life, you always walked with your head held high, refusing to show any weakness, but right now? Your head is down, only peering up at him through hooded lids. Something about the Mandalorian scratches a primal instinct in you that you’ve only observed in animals. Predator, prey—you’re giving up control, and what’s worse is that you actually _like_ it. When it came to lovers, you had always been the dominant one. Every run you’ve made since you can remember, you were the one calling the shots, ordering your comrades around, but in the very short time you’ve known the Mandalorian, you can tell he likes control, and order.

You should hate him. You shouldn’t feel this kind of attraction for him, but despite your efforts, it’s there. You _are_ attracted to him—he basically owns you now; it definitely shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does.

“Sorry?” You manage to choke out. Your throat is bone dry and Maker, you swear if he was any closer, he’d be able to hear your heart fucking _hammering_ in your chest. His gloved hand reaches out and grabs the binds on your wrists. It’s not even his fucking bare hand but it has you holding back a moan. You wrench your eyes shut hoping it will alleviate some of the tension building between your legs.

“I’m going to unbind you,” The voice behind the helmet begins to say. “But if you run, I _will_ catch you again and I won’t hesitate to throw your ass in carbonite. Do you understand?” It comes our breathy, almost like being this close to you is affecting him the same way it’s affecting you.

You can’t find any words, now. All you can do is nod slowly because your mind is on fucking fire being this close to him and you want to rip off that helmet and crush your lips together but also you want to drop to your fucking knees and show him how much he’s affecting you.

The grip on your wrists relaxes and he’s taking the binds and tossing them to the floor of the ship. You continue to stand just a few feet from each other. The visor is too dark to make out his eyes, and you curse the Maker for it. You’ve heard stories about Mandalorians. How they never take off their helmets in front of others, how they swear to the Creed to live a life of anonymity. You couldn’t possibly imagine living that way. It sounds incredibly restricting, but you do respect it. Everyone has their own beliefs in this world, and you aren’t one to judge another for the path they’ve chosen. Look at yourself, you were a nobody mechanic and then you became a spice smuggler. The path you’ve chosen isn’t exactly noble, so who are you to judge how the Mandalorians choose to live their lives?

It takes you a couple of seconds to realize he’s no inches away from your face. He’s halfway down the ramp when he calls you.

“Let’s go.”

You stumble for a couple steps and then pick up a small jog to catch up with him. The walk is a little uncomfortable now due to the slickness between your thighs, but you push through it.

“Where are we going?” You ask once you’re by his side. You look up at him but when he answers you, he keeps his attention peeled to the landscape in front of him.

“The hyperdrive was damaged.” His strides are much larger than yours, and you need to trot to keep up the pace. “I saw a town not too far from here. Hopefully there’ll be someone there that can help.”

You spot the town—barely a town, it’s just a couple of huts and then a bigger one at the centre. You wonder how anyone would _choose_ to live here. It’s too quiet, too uneventful. There are a couple merchants selling krill—you know Sorgan exports a lot of krill and is basically the only way farmers make a living here.

You enter the common house—maybe it’s an inn, you’re not entirely sure. It’s nothing like the cantinas on Kijimi or Tatooine or any of the other planets you’ve visited. It’s ridiculously quiet and charming. There aren’t any patrons playing sabacc and screaming at one another when one of them loses, or others getting incredibly intoxicated on spotchka and brawling on the floor of the bar. Just a couple of humble farmers, some making a pit spot, and other locals keeping to themselves. It’s refreshing and also unnerving. You’re used to the commotion of more lively planet cantinas, staying in the shadows and observing, making sure you’d be ready in case someone tried to pick a fight with you. There’s no need for that here. Not only does everyone in this place look completely harmless, but you’ve also got a fucking Mandalorian on your left, and you doubt anyone would be stupid enough to try to fight him.

Unlike your choice to sit in the back of the common house, the Mandalorian chooses a table smack in the middle of the room. That’s the difference between a Mandalorian and a smuggler. You would rather choose a quiet place to sit, not drawing any attention to yourself. He—on the other hand, doesn’t put that much thought into where they should sit. Smugglers are always being hunted. Mandalorians? No one wants to fight them.

Once seated, you tense immediately. There are voices behind you, and not being able to keep track of what they’re saying, or if they move really distresses you. Granted, you doubt anyone here has a mean bone in their body, but you stay on edge regardless.

One of the women behind the counter takes notice of your arrival. Patting her hands clean on her apron, she walks over to you.

“Can I interest you in anything, travelers?” She asks, all smiles.

Her immediate kindness puts you at ease—slightly.

Before you can ask for some spotchka, the Mandalorian’s vocoder cuts through the helmet.

“Is there anyone here that can repair a ship?”

Her brows pull together tightly, pressing a finger to her chin. “Hmm… I’m afraid you’re out of luck. Sorgan is a farming planet, and we don’t get many visitors around here.”

He sighs, and you peek down from the woman standing over you to see his fist ball up on the table. “Fine.” It comes out strained, like it’s taking all his strength not to blow up and scream.

“Would you like anything else?” She asks again. “Maybe something for you, ma’am?” Shifting her body to face you, you open your mouth to answer, but the Mandalorian speaks first. “No, thank you.”

You whip your head to face him. You may be a quarry, but you still have _some_ rights.

“Actually,” You point out, still looking at the helmet that burns right into you. “I’d like a bottle of your finest spotchka, please.”

He tilts his head just enough for you to notice, fist still balled up on the table. The lady seems to take notice of the tension, but she says nothing further. She simply nods and retreats to the bar. Returning swiftly with a bottle in one hand—two cups in the other, she places them between you two. You reach into the side thigh pocket of your pants and pull out a handful of credits and place them in her hand. She nods in gratitude. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.”

“Thank you.” The hunter grits through his teeth.

Immediately you pour yourself a glass and throw it back, a couple droplets leaking from the corners of your mouth. Using the back of your hand, you wipe your mouth clean. You know you’ll probably regret the little stunt you just pulled, but it’s been a long fucking day and you just want to relax for a bit.

Okay, so maybe you’re not entirely relaxed because there’s a Mandalorian just a few feet away from that seems to be getting more and more cross the longer you stay in the common house, but you also want to see how far you can press him before he snaps. Besides, he shot down your ship. You deserve this.

Three more glasses of spotchka later, and you’re feeling warm inside. The kind of warm that lowers your defenses and makes you giggle at everything. The kind of warmth that releases the tension that’s nestled in the deepest corners of your body, and makes your vision a little fuzzy. It’s probably early evening now, because the common house is getting livelier. They must be coming in for a meal.

“Get up,” The Mandalorian orders, rising to his feet.

“So soon?” You pout. You’re definitely feeling the effects of the spotchka.

“We’ve wasted enough time here. Now get up, we’re leaving.”

Normally, you’d fight till your last breath, but with the alcohol swimming in your blood, your inhibitions are lowered, and you’re way too relaxed to actually get your brain to fight back. Besides, there’s barely any spotchka left and you don’t have any more credits to spend.

Getting to your feet is a little bit of a struggle. Once standing up, the room starts spinning. Not enough to completely knock you off balance, but enough to make it difficult to stand without swaying. Turning on his heel, the Mandalorian heads for the door, cape mimicking his movements. Your legs aren’t moving as fast as you’d like them too, and the spotchka is really getting to your head, now. You drank a lot more than you should have.

Luckily you’re able to catch up to him, somewhat out of breath though. He doesn’t say anything to you—no surprise there. As you stumble through the forest, there’s a gentle breeze in the air. Tree branches creak as the wind passes through, and stray hairs from your ponytail brush across your flushed cheeks. You’re too preoccupied with enjoying the clean, fresh air to notice he’s now a couple feet ahead of you. The cape attached to his armour flows in the gentle breeze. Stars, you’re completely captivated by him. By the way he carries himself, like there’s not a shred of self-doubt behind that armor, and you want to know everything about him. Now that you’re pretty drunk, the thoughts you pushed away can roam freely in your mind. When was the last time he took off that helmet? Why did he—a Mandalorian, decide to be a bounty hunter? How many quarries has he captured in his life? How old is he? Are Mandalorians allowed to have sex with non-Mandalorians? Your mind is coming up with an endless number of questions, but you never find the strength to ask.

“You know, you could have asked me to help with the ship,” The words tumble from your lips before you can stop them. The Mandalorian stops in his tracks and waits for you to catch up to him. Once you’re at his side, he turns his head to look in your direction.

“What?” Deep, rough, and somewhat irritable.

Your shoulders shoot up and down twice, body swaying with the breeze. “I’m a mechanic.”

“Yeah.” He says, brushing off yours words and resuming his tread.

“No, seriously.” Chasing after him, you want to reach out and grab hold of his arm, but you catch yourself before you do.

“Just how much spotchka did you drink?” He taunts, voice condensing like he’s scolding a child.

“I… don’t know.” Holy maker, did you drink an entire bottle to yourself?

The Mandalorian actually scoffs at you. If you could see his face, you’re certain he’d be rolling his eyes at you.

“Okay, well I _used_ to be.” You clarify, still struggling to keep up with his gigantic strides. Kriff how fast does he walk? “Can you just stop walking for a second, please?”

“No.”

You let out a loud, childish groan. At this point you basically have to run to keep up with the hunk of metal heading back to his ship.

“I used to repair ships with my father on Tatooine.” Your tone is breathy, your lungs trying to get as much fresh air as possible.

This makes him pause. Turning around, the ‘T’ of his visor looking directly at you. Stopping at arm’s-length away from him, you bend forward, hands resting on your knees. He gives you time to regulate your breathing.

“I can fix the hyperdrive. I’ve been doing it since I can remember.” You try to assure him. You don’t even know why you’re offering your help. The longer it takes to fix, the longer your freedom lasts, but the alcohol has made you soft, more accommodating. Seeming to come out of nowhere, your vision becomes extremely blurry. You swear there’s now two Mandalorians in front of you. Blinking profusely, your eyesight doesn’t clear. You feel like you’re floating while simultaneously being pulled to the ground. Fighting to keep your eyes open, you feel your limbs cave in, and everything gets dark.

The sound of crackling fire wakes you up. It must be late, because the fire is the only source of light. How did you get here? The last thing you remember was walking through thick forest with the Mandalorian and now you’re laying by a fire, back near the Crest. You can’t remember the last time you actually _passed_ out from drinking so much. The spotchka here has to be stronger than any other time you’ve had it. You can handle your drink, and this is downright embarrassing.

Wait, did he actually carry you back to the ship? Despite the little stunt you pulled back at the common house? He could have easily thrown you into carbonite once you both got back to the ship and you wouldn’t have even known it, but for some reason, he chose not to. You want to ask him—to show your appreciation, but you hesitate. Maybe just letting it slide is the right course of action.

Propping yourself on your elbows, you see the Mandalorian sitting on an old, mossy stump. There’s something between his legs, but you can’t make out its features through the fire. Pushing yourself to your feet, you notice another stump just to your right. He must have put it there for you to sit once you woke up. You have a pounding headache, but the fire’s warmth helps a little.

You can now make out a few more details about the creature sat between the Mandalorian’s feet. It _looks_ like a child, but you can’t be sure. Your eyes must be deceiving you because it appears to be green, the type of green you’ve only ever seen on the plains of Naboo.

Stars, its _ears_. They’re massive, just like its eyes. Your mouth curls into a smile. _It’s adorable_. You’ve never been partial to kids. There was never something inside of you that longed for a child, or to take care of one, but this little thing at the Mandalorian’s feet is making you rethink anything negative you’ve ever said about babies.

“What…is that?” You ask as you sit down on the stump he placed for you.

From the embers of the fire, you see the little thing’s eyes find you and it coos. _Kriff, he’s so fucking cute._

“He’s a foundling.” _Oh, so it’s a ‘he’_.

You wait for him to explain, but the Mandalorian isn’t one to talk or elaborate unless directly addressed or absolutely necessary. Continuing to examine the child from a distance, it—no, he, is also looking at you, almost like he’s studying you as well.

“How did he come into your care?”

“He was a quarry,” His voice is quiet, the modulator distorting his tone to make it raspier than usual.

“You haven’t delivered him yet?”

Your eyes shift between the man in armor across the fire from you, and the small green alien-looking child between his legs. The Child’s head tilts from side to side as he watches you, the reflection of the flames glistening in his big black eyes.

“I did.” He deadpans and leaves you to fill in the rest of the blanks.

You want to bore him to death with questions. Why did he go back for him? Does this mean he’s its father? How does he plan to raise a child being a bounty hunter? Does that mean this kid will also become a Mandalorian?

None of these questions actually come out of your mouth, though. Given the circumstances, you don’t think the Mandalorian even has a clue what he’ll do, and it’s not really your place to bombard him with your curiosity.

So, maybe this Mandalorian was different from the stories you’ve heard—not that you’ve heard much honestly other than them being amazing killers, but if he went back for the Child, then maybe there was a soft, kind heart under all that beskar.

“I can do it.” Your voice is just loud enough for him to hear you. You continue to stare into the flames, waiting to see if he’ll respond. He doesn’t, but that’s fine with you. 

You’re not entirely sure when you even fell asleep but when your eyes flutter open, you’re lying on the ground, back against the uneven terrain. Using the ground to push you up to your feet, you shake the dirt off your pants and begin stretching your back by twisting your torso until you hear a satisfying _crack_. Your mother used to scold you for cracking your back. “You’re going to hurt yourself one day,” she used to say. When you were a kid, you’d roll your eyes at her and then she’d give you a gentle but still stern slap across the arm, the kind of slap only a mother could get away with doing. You were never really one to listen to authority, so it’s a habit you never grew out of.

It’s a beautiful day. The sun is beaming down on your skin, not a single cloud in sight. Sorgan is quite breathtaking, really. On most planets, no matter where you are, you can hear the commotion of city centres or see ships coming in and out of the atmosphere. Not on Sorgan, though. The only sounds you’re able to make out are tress swaying in the breeze, and the occasional bellow of the beasts in the forest.

The sound of the Child startles you. He’s at your feet, little arms extending out to grasp the material of your trousers. _When did he get here?_ You crouch down and wave your index finger at him, little coos emitting from the green baby. His three-fingered hand wraps around your finger. This warm calmness comes over you, putting you at ease. Untensing all your muscles, your aches disappear, and the only thing that exists is you and the Child. You close your eyes, completely giving into the stillness. Maker, you swear you can hear the Child say something. Your eyes are still closed, and you don’t actually _hear_ him say anything, but he is. You hear it in your mind—It’s faint and muffled, and you have to focus all your energy into narrowing down what he’s saying, and then it becomes as clear as day.

_Grogu_. 

“Good. You’re up.”

The Mandalorian’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. He’s headed straight for you, just as stoic as ever; the sun’s light ricocheting off the beskar. The Child’s grip slackens, and you straighten out to meet the Mandalorian’s gaze. Your breath hitches as he continues to make his way towards you. Something as simple as a walk shouldn’t make you feel the way it does, but you can’t help the way your body reacts to him. Shifting in your stance, you can’t help but notice the heat building in your lower abdomen. _Stars, get a grip. He’s the enemy, you shouldn’t allow yourself to feel this._

Leaning over, he picks up the Child and holds him with one arm. Almost immediately, you observe the way the Child wraps his tiny hand around one of the Mandalorian’s gloved fingers. There’s no stopping the stupid, shit-eating grin that appears on your face.

“The hyperdrive.”

“Right.” You respond, the smile falls from your face and you stand there awkwardly for a few seconds. The Mandalorian turns his back to you and makes way for the Crest. You follow him like a lost puppy, keeping a couple feet distance between you and him.

Once inside, he sets the Child down on one of the cargo crates near the ladder leading up the cockpit. You head up the ladder first, and he quickly follows suit. To your left is a small cubby hole in the wall that accesses all the wiring to the hyperdrive. It’ll be a nightmare to crawl in and out of, but you offered your services to him, so you can’t turn back now.

“I’ll get straight to work, then.” Turning away from him, you crouch down to your knees to examine the damage. There are various wires that are disconnected and thrown around, smoke emitting from one of the panels hidden inside the wall, and looks just about as worse as it can get. You’ve never seen anything _this_ bad, before. How the Kriff was he able to fly this ship in such a horrible state? You start by grabbing a blue and red wire that hang loosely off the wall. A bit of copper and aluminum cords are splitting at the end of the cable which makes you think they might have touched each other causing some kind short circuit. Shrugging off the idea, you start to work.

After working on the hyperdrive for a couple hours, you decide to take a break. Climbing down the ladder near the cockpit, there’s no sign of the Mandalorian or the Child. All of a sudden, you’re aware of how sticky your body feels. Dirty, grimy, and uncomfortable. Now would be the perfect time for a shower. You turn your head to the fresher behind you and consider taking one, but you don’t want to intrude. You’re still a quarry and you assume the Mandalorian wouldn’t appreciate you taking a shower in _his_ refresher. On your walk to the common house yesterday, you had spotted a lake not too far away. Maybe you could take one there. Then again, if you were to venture off, he might think you’ve run off. Your eyes shift between the fresher and the outside.

“You can clean up in the fresher.” Despite his tone always been low and rough, it still startles you. You whip your neck to see the Mandalorian leaning against the wall of the ship. You swear he wasn’t there a second ago so to see him just a few metres away from you not only puzzles you, but sends immediate shockwaves to your cunt. You feel like you’re being stalked, and it shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does. The Mandalorian is built like a goddamn Star Destroyer; one look at him and you’re instantly intimidated, almost scared. You’ve never met anyone who can be so big yet so quiet, so frightening yet also so caring. It’s actually quite impressive. From his demeanor, no one would be able to guess he’s got a _fucking_ kid back in his ship.

At first you want to protest, not wanting to push any boundaries or make either of you feel uncomfortable, but you know he’ll end up winning any argument you try to make for yourself, so instead you give him a quick nod before turning on your heel to the refresher. You don’t turn back to see if the Mandalorian is still looking at you, but your cheeks feel red hot anyway.

The fresher is pretty small considering the size of the ship, but if he somehow manages to fit in here, you have no problem. The water is warm, and cascades over your skin, instantly relaxing you. It feels amazing until it suddenly doesn’t. Your arm is burning, it’s on fucking fire and then it hits you. Looking down at your arm, you see scorched skin and are reminded of your injury from… well you’re not quite sure how long it’s been since he captured you back on Kijimi. It’s maybe been two or three days since. In the same moment, you realize you never got to put any bacta spray on it to stop any kind of infection. The skin surrounding the wound is turning a deep green-purple shade. Not a good sign.

“ _Kriff_ …” You whisper. You were supposed to put some bacta on it once you got back to your ship but obviously, things went differently than you expected. You take the bar of soap sitting on one of the ledges inside the fresher and begin washing away the dirt and sweat from the last couple of days, being extra careful when cleaning the area around your injury. Realistically, you could stay here for hours, letting the warm water drip down your figure, completely soothing your sore muscles and calming your mind, but you don’t want to take up more water than necessary.

When you come out of the fresher, there’s a pile of clean clothes resting on the rungs of the ladder. Tilting your head at the garments in front of you, you take them in your hands and smile to yourself. He must have gone out while you were working on the ship and somehow was able to find you some clean clothes. You change quickly, out in the open, hoping he won’t walk in and see you—okay maybe you _do_ kind of hope he’ll see you. Once you’re fully clothes, you’re pleasantly surprised to notice they fit you perfectly. The cargo pants hug your frame like a glove, and you can’t help but notice they make your ass look _great_. Your tunic snatches your waist and is low cut enough for just the smallest amount of cleavage to pop through.

Taking the ladder two steps at a time, you reach the top in record time. You can see the smooth convex of beskar in the pilot’s chair, so instead of immediately resuming your work, you poke your head into the doorway of the cockpit. The Child’s pram rests on the seat to your left. It’s closed which means he’s probably asleep in there.

“Thank you for the clothes…” You’re not sure what to call him, since neither of us have actually properly introduced yourselves. However, you’re sure he knows your name given there’s a bounty on your head.

He doesn’t turn to face you, just continues whatever he’s doing. “Mando,” He clarifies, somehow answering the question you were thinking. “And you’re welcome.”

You linger for a couple seconds, not entirely sure why. He’s not much of a talker, but you still want to hear his voice. Before you can conjure up with something to say, he breaks the silence.

“When will you be done?” There isn’t any annoyance in his tone, which is usually accompanied by that question. You heard it all the time when you worked back at the hangar. _“Hey lady, when are you going to be done?”,_ _“What the Kriff is taking so long?”._ You’ve grown to let those condescending questions roll off your back, but the Mandalorian’s tone is surprisingly gentle. Maker, are you falling for the Mandalorian?

“Well,” You begin, taking a few steps into the cockpit. Your hand comes up and latches onto your forearm, squeezing it. “I noticed that the hyperdrive was only functioning at 50% capacity before it broke down completely, and I was going to ask if you wanted it back at 100% before we takeoff because that’ll take—”

“Just fix it enough for us to get back to Nevarro.” He interjects, the baritone coming out dry.

It catches you off-guard, but you’re quickly reminded once again that you aren’t just somebody fixing the ship. You are a prisoner, and he doesn’t actually owe you any more kindness. He was kind enough to let you live, let you clean yourself in _his_ refresher, and give you clean clothes. You’re chewing on the flesh inside your cheek, wondering if there’s something else you should say, but nothing worth saying comes to mind. He must notice your presence still there, because he swivels the pilot’s chair to face you. You swallow the giant lump in your throat and shift in your stance.

“You’re hurt.”

You glance over to your arm and then back to the visor. “It’s nothing.”

Pressing down on his knees to stand, the Mandalorian stalks towards you. Nerves and arousal are pooling in your stomach, now. Your chest is heaving as he gets closer. Stopping just at arm’s length, a gloved hand reaches out and clasps just underneath your injured bicep. The touch makes you pull back, not because it hurts but because it feels _too_ fucking amazing. You’re seeing stars and he’s barely even touched you. Mouth agape, your breathing is so fucking uneven.

“That’ll need more than just cauterizing in order for it to properly heal,” His hand now moves down, ever so gently caressing your elbow. Your head dips down, unable to look at him directly. It’s pathetic really. You’re usually a fairly strong-willed person, who doesn’t bend at the will of anybody. You stand tall, even despite your size. Others in the smuggling game have a huge respect for you and see you as a leader, but now you’re cowering under the Mandalorian. You’d obey every one of his commands if he ordered it. All the power you hold, your bad habit of resisting authority would vanish in an instant if he pushed you.

“There’s bacta spray in the medical kit near the armory. You should take care of that before it infects.”

Your brain is racing, and the ability to form words had completed disappeared. All you can offer is a barely noticeable nod. You want to stay in this moment for as long as you can. Just the two of you standing inches apart, the tension growing thicker and thicker in the small area of the cockpit. You wonder if he feels it, too. If he wishes for this intimate moment to last forever. Swallowing your nerves, your eyes shit from the floor up to the visor. Trying to gauge for some kind of reaction but even if he is affected by this, his body gives no sign of it. Must be all in your head, then.

The Mandalorian’s finally the one to break up your little moment. He lets go of your elbow and you fight back the moan that threatens to escape your lips. You want him to touch you again, anywhere and fucking everywhere. He sits back in the chair and rotates it towards the control panel, so his back is facing you again. You probably linger a little longer than you should before finally retreating back down the ladder to get the bacta spray.

Once the spray mists over the gash, you instantly feel relief. The strain you didn’t realize was still in your body dissipates and you let out a deep breath through your lips. _Thank the Maker for bacta spray._

The next few days go by relatively fast. Despite the awkward/sexual tension that clearly exists between you and Mando, you’re able to endure it. The encounters don’t last that long anyway. Usually, he’ll ask you about the progress on the hyperdrive. The conversations don’t last particularly long, but it’s enough to work you up into a sweaty mess.

And if you’re being honest, you probably could have fixed the hyperdrive in two days. You’re a damn natural when it comes to repairs, and you’ve fixed hundreds of hyperdrives in worse shape believe it or not. But you’re were taking your sweet ass time, giving yourself more time to be with Mando. It’s silly and childish, but you truly enjoyed his company, even though the conversations are mostly one sided.

Unfortunately though, the job had to get done. Once Mando noticed the hyperdrive had been fixed to 65% capacity, he was satisfied enough with your work. He decided you’d spend one last night on Sorgan and then leave at first light.

You’re all sitting by the fire. The Child propped up on a stump between the two of you. The night is calm, not a single breeze passing through the trees. A clear sky showered in stars. Forgetting the fact that this is essentially your last night of “freedom”, you’re really loving this.

“Twenty thousand.”

You’re in the middle of sipping bone broth you bought off a merchant in town—with Mando’s credits, when his voice catches your attention. “Hmm?” You mumble, using the back of your hand to wipe the little dripples of soup that trinkle down your chin.

“You asked me how much your bounty was,” His helmet stares into the fire a few feet away from him. The orange hues reflecting off the beskar.

Your lips form a thin line. You didn’t know the New Republic had that kind of money to spend. Twenty thousand is a pretty generous bounty.

“Wow, that’s pretty high.” That’s actually _really_ high. It’s hard to make an honest living, and the New Republic throwing around thousands of credits like that makes you uneasy. Instead of using that as an incentive for other to hunt criminals, it should be distributed to those less fortunate. The thought makes you chuckle to yourself. A smuggler explaining how a government should be run. How noble of you.

“I wasn’t born into this, you know…” Your voice trails off, unsure if Mando wants to hear you or not. The helmet turns in your direction, giving you permission to continue. The Child looks up at you and coos. Your eyes avert their gaze to stare into the flames.

Clearing your throat, you begin. “I was raised on Tatooine. My parents were lucky enough to own a hangar, so my dad worked there, and my mom was a seamstress. Just a couple of ordinary people.” You weren’t particularly less fortunate than anyone else in your town. Your belly was always full, and you always had clean clothes on your back. Most of the residents in your village weren’t as privileged but your parents were generous, offering what little excess they had was given those who couldn’t afford food or clean garments.

Early on, they taught you never to flaunt what you had, always be humble when speaking to others, and to always be respectful. You loved your parents more than you could say, and ever since they died, you shut off a part of yourself. Heartbroken and alone, losing yourself in work seemed like the only way to cope with the loss. The more sorrow you felt, the more work you forced on yourself. If it weren’t for Tye, you’re not sure if you would have been able to get through it.

And ever since then, you vowed never to let yourself experience any kind of love again. The risk was just too high. Not knowing if one day your loved one would come home or not, investing so much of your soul into someone, relying on them only to have it snatched away from you without warning; it just seemed foolish. When they died, you cried every morning and every night for months, until one night you vowed never to cry again.

And you haven’t since.

People called you heartless, scum, cruel, but their words never managed to pierce the iron exterior you mentally built for yourself when your parents died. No one would be allowed to access that sensitive, caring part of you. Not even Tye. You loved him like a brother, but once that loss had punched through you, you could never look at him the same. There was a distance, now. Whether he knew it or not, he never confronted you about it. He gave you space, and when you were ready to let him back into your life, albeit not _really back in_ , he never pressured you or expected your relationship to go back to how it was.

“So when they passed, I just felt like I was lost. I needed to escape.”

“And smuggling was your only option?” There’s a hint of mockery in his tone.

“Yeah, I’m a smuggler and you’re a bounty hunter. We all make choices in life. I’ve made my peace with that.” Your tone comes out a little more defensive than it should, and you think about apologizing, but fuck it. You have nothing to lose anymore. Even if you thought he might not turn you in, the possibility of getting twenty thousand credits is too much of an opportunity to pass up on.

Neither of you speak for the rest of the night.

You’re awakened by Mando nudging your feet with his. You snap out of deep sleep, rubbing your palms against your eyes. Sitting up, you moan softly and begin trying to adjust your vision to the Sorgan darkness. The only light that the night offers is the moonlight reflecting off Mando’s armor. The helmet’s looking directly at you, and a finger comes up to where his mouth would be, signaling to be quiet. Still half-asleep, you nod.

Ever so slowly, you rise to your feet and quickly brush the dirt off your pants.

“Get to the ship,” He orders, voice low and gruff.

“What’s going on?” You whisper, still standing in place.

“Hunters.” He says. “ _Get_ to the ship.” Mando orders again, his tone becoming much more assertive. You want to fight. You’ve never run from a fight before, and you’re not about to start now.

“I can help.”

Before having the chance to respond, red blasts come flying through the trees in the distance. Mando grabs you by the waist and shoves you behind him, shielding you with his body. “Get to the fucking ship!” He yells.

You want to argue with him, really you do. Realistically, you know he could probably take care of this himself, but that doesn’t mean you want to cower away and hide in the ship while he takes care of business. Then panic swarms you.

_The Child._

Your head whips back and forth, and the relief that comes over you when you catch sight of his pram just your left, the gloomy night shielding him from sight, instantly calms your nerves.

The shooting stops all at once, becoming eerily quiet. Mando pivots, trying to keep eyes all around him. Your body mimics his movements, even though you’re completely defenseless. Twigs snapping, bushes rustling—not from the breeze, but from intruders trampling over them, coming closer. One, two, three, four hunters come into view, flanking you from all angles.

Okay, so this worse than you thought.

“Ah, Mando!” One of them calls out, blaster pointed directly at Mando’s chest.

“We don’t want any trouble, Mando,” Another pursuer taunts. “We just want the girl.”

_Fuck._

They begin drawing in closer. You don’t want to underestimate Mando’s ability to fight, but with four hunters closing in, and having only _one_ blaster, you’re not seeing how he can win this. You’re conjuring a plan inside your head and praying that he’ll catch on. If someone’s going to get credit for your capture, it sure as hell isn’t going to be this gang of thugs.

“Fine.” You throw up your hands in defeat, stepping aside from the shield that is Mando. You face the man directly in front of you, assuming he’s the one who’s leading the charge.

“What are you doing?” Mando’s voice is fucking low, somewhere between a whisper and a _growl_.

“Trust me.” Your tone gentle, eyes pleading with him.

You begin taking slow footsteps towards the blaster pointed now at _you_. “I can assure you, I’m more valuable alive, so why don’t we put our blasters down before someone gets hurts?” Arms still up, hesitating to take any more steps forward.

“You think we’re stupid enough to listen to you?” One of them shouts behind you. You flinch on impulse. Your chest is heaving, but you need to a grip if you plan to walk away from this alive.

You can slightly make out the hunter’s features. He looks somewhat familiar, like when you see a stranger in a dream, but you can’t pinpoint where you’ve seen him before. You’ve encountered plenty of hunters before, maybe they’re just all starting to look the same to you. Only Mando stands out, now.

The moon’s mellow and radiant reflection is starting to make out the hunter’s features. He doesn’t look entirely human, but you don’t manage to get close enough to actually see what he is.

“Hi, _sweetheart_.” The hunter sneers, his mouth curling into a malicious grin.

Stopping dead in your tracks, you remember who this is—but how? You shot him in the chest. You saw him fall. Sure, you didn’t actually check to see if he was dead but how could anyone survive being blasted directly in the chest? You must be remembering wrong. No, he shouldn’t be here. He _can’t_ be here.

“Surprised to see me?”

You refuse to show your disbelief, keeping your jaw tense. “No, it’s just more target practice.” You spit.

Eerie laughter erupts from deep inside the man opposite you. Never slacking on the grip on his blaster, he shifts the barrel from your chest to directly between your eyes. _Okay…what the fuck do you do now?_

Mando and the kid are still a few feet behind you. You’re running out of ideas, fast. If you went to attack your pursuer, he’d definitely shoot you before you got close enough to him, and the three behind you would shoot Mando down before he even had time to react. You need to play this out smart, maybe you could—

Before being able to finish your thought, you hear whistling, and bodies hit the ground. Instinctively, you want to look over your shoulder to see what happened, but there’s still a blaster pointed at your face, and you’d be dead if you wasted even a second to turn around. Charging at him, you narrowly miss three blasts as they come flying by your cheek, shoulder, and neck. Once you feel close enough, you lunge at him, knocking you both to the ground. Your body lands on top of his, the blaster rolling a few feet away from your conjoined bodies. Grabbing hold of the lapel on his jacket, you wind up your fist and connect it with his jaw. He cries at the pain, retaliating by slamming his knee into your abdomen. The air is completely knocked out of your lungs, but you stifle the wail that threatens to spill you. You refuse to give him the satisfaction.

You reach out aimlessly for the gun, and the joy you get when you feel the gun in your hand is unmatched. Scrambling to your feet, and clutching the gun in your hand, you point it at him. Mando wastes no time rushing to your side, blaster also on him.

“Don’t.” You tell him. No, you want this kill to be yours.

For a moment, you think he’ll ignore you and shoot him anyway. The man on the ground, now resting on his elbows spits, droplets of blood landing on the ground, a small trail dribbling down his chin. It shouldn’t bring you this much satisfaction, to see him bleed and completely at your mercy, but reason has escaped you. You want to hurt him; you want him to feel as much pain as any person can take. He threatened you, Mando, and the kid. He’ll pay for it, you promise.

“Go ahead, kill me.” The man swears. “But know that we’re only the beginning. You think you’re the only one who got a tracking fob, Mando?” A smile curls up on the corners of his lips. Your body is hot—it’s actually scorching. This surpasses any emotion you’ve ever felt before. The scalding need for blood and pain engulfs you. You’re not even sure _why_ you feel so angry, but you are.

“Hunter scum,” You spit, kicking him hard in the stomach. More red fluid punches out of his mouth, causing him to cough aggressively.

“Hey,” Mando’s free arm grasps on to your bicep. “Stop.”

Your head’s shaking violently. No, he needs to suffer. “No, I’m gonna savour this.” You swing your leg back to kick him again, but Mando’s voice rips through the vocoder. “Stop!” It comes out aggressive, like he’s giving you an order.

Your jaw is tight, every fiber in your body is telling you to shove Mando out of the way so you can wreck this hunter scum that lies at your feet.

“You g-gonna let him order you around like that, _sweetheart_?” His last word cuts through you like a vibroblade to the chest. Your free hand balls up into a fist, white knuckling so hard, you’re sure you’re breaking skin with your nails. The man on the ground laughs, he’s fucking laughing at you and that’s the final straw, the thing you needed to push you over the edge. Unclenching your fist, your hand shoots up and flexes around what you imagine is his neck. He coughs, and starts gasping for air. Shaky hands shoot up to his own throat, as if he thinks that’ll somehow relieve the pressure you’re creating. It feels _good_ , seeing him fucking struggle for breath, watching the light behind his eyes becoming dimmer and dimmer. It’s happening all too fast, and you want to take your time.

“Fuck this,” Mando shouts, his blaster coming up and shooting the man in the heart. Your grip slackens, and you drop to your knees. Struggling for breath, one hand on your chest and the other on your knee, you feel like you’re going to pass out. Mando’s drops to your side, a big, gloved hand resting on your back. Your body shudders at the touch and you pull away from him. Determined to put some space between you two, you straighten out, and take a couple steps back.

“What the hell happened there?” He tries not to startle you; his voice comes out a rough whisper.

Feeling your breathing evening out, your palms come out, trembling. You stare down at them, then to the corpse lying near Mando’s feet, desperately trying to understand why you couldn’t stop, why you couldn’t control your anger. The words aren’t forming, you can’t bring yourself to understand how it happened.

“I-I don’t know.” _How could this happen? How could you let this happen?_

A distorted sigh comes through the helmet. “Where did you learn how to do that?”

“I didn’t,” Your voice comes out as gentle as you can, given the circumstances. “I’ve just always had it.”

Mando takes a step closer to you and halts; he’s asking for permission to get closer. You give him a barely noticeable nod and within seconds he’s towering over you. His hands twitch at his sides, and you wonder if he’s going to touch you, but he doesn’t, and you start to believe that maybe a jail cell is exactly where you should be.


	3. Facing the Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings: violence, a LITTLE BIT OF SMUT (its also my first time writing any smut so pls let me know if there's something I can improve!!), ANGST, that might be it but also feel free to let me know if I missed anything 
> 
> also I edited this like twice so if there are still typos thats just my lazy ass

Nevarro is…gloomy—definitely not the type of planet you’d willingly visit. All you could see up until the horizon are plains of rock, cracks filled with lava, and steam emitting from the slits in the ground. Not even the sun shining down on you can improve the landscape. It’s muggy, and dark. In hindsight, it’s the perfect place for a bounty hunter base; the occupation compliments the wasteland that is this planet.

You don’t mean to be overly critical of bounty hunters, but they are to blame for imprisoning so many of your crew that your anger clouds any rational and unbiased opinion about this planet.

Mando lands the Crest just outside the walls of the city. The town itself looks terribly small, but doesn’t seem like a _total_ shithole. Other than Nevarro being the central location for the Bounty Hunters Guild, you don’t know much about the planet. Most of the spice running deals are made far away from here—for obvious reasons. Even you’re not reckless enough to step foot on a planet where most of the population wants to hunt you down for a price.

The last couple of days have been…awkward to say the least. Ever since your ‘incident’ on Sorgan, Mando’s barely said two words to you. Maybe he’s angry at you, maybe he’s scared of you—you can’t be sure, but he’s been distant. He no longer stands close to you, or engages in small conversation like he did back on Sorgan, and when he does, he doesn’t even look at you. His helmet stays peeled to whatever it is he was doing before you addressed him. It’s incredibly frustrating. You want to explain, you want to reassure that you would never think of doing that to him or the Child, but you yourself can’t even be sure of that. It feels completely out of your control, so how could you even attempt to reassure him that it couldn’t happen? You’re basically a simmering pot, and every day the water gets closer to the brim, and could bubble over at any minute.

And if you’re being honest, deep down you’re a little relieved that soon you’ll be in custody. You won’t be able to cause any more harm, even if some of them deserve it.

You’ve been living in the cockpit since you left Sorgan, spending most of your time sitting in the chair going over and analyzing every single moment from that night. There was obvious anger inside of you, and rightfully so considering that man had tried to kill you twice, but there was also a…voice. It was a whisper, like something deep in your subconscious, forcing you to do its bidding. It told you to make him suffer, to make him bleed, and the voice was _happy_ to see the hunter in pain. Clouding every rational thought in your mind, it was like being trapped inside your own body. Screaming to break through, you were a helpless passenger watching your body commit this atrocity. You’ve never been malicious, you thought yourself a caring person. Someone who wouldn’t inflict harm just for the sake of revenge, but now you’re not sure who you are anymore.

Who are you? Are you a mechanic? Are you a spice smuggler? Are you a monster? There are voices at odds inside of you. They fight for dominance, they beg you to choose who you wish to be, and for the first time in forever, you’re scared of who you are becoming. You’re not who you thought you were, you’re not who Tye believed you to be, or who your parents raised you as. Are you this dangerous criminal that the fucking Republic paints you as?

“We’re here.” Mando’s baritone comes out strained. He lingers in the doorway of the cockpit for a few seconds then descends the ladder, not bothering to wait for you to catch up.

“Okay.” Your leg bounces off the floor, and you’re biting down on your lip so hard, you’ll probably leave a permanent mark. Eyes looking dead ahead, the Nevarro horizon looking back at you, you wonder if you’d still be in this situation if your parents were still alive. Would you have still rebelled and turned to a life of constant running? Would you have stayed on Tatooine, leaving no mark for the galaxy to remember you by? Would you still have met Mando somehow?

Using your heels to push you to your feet, you take one last look at the cockpit and then head down the ladder. The ramp is open, and you catch Mando waiting for you at the top of it. The Child rests in his arm, tiny hand latched onto his gloved index finger.

As you both descend down the ramp, there’s a man standing ahead of you, just in front of the archway entrance to the city. From the kept white beard that rests on his cheeks and chin, you assume he’s middle aged. There’s a black cloak wrapped around his body, fastened around his clavicle are two golden clasps attached to a chain which are only worn by magistrates. Mando has some powerful friends, you think to yourself.

“Ah, Mando!” The man exclaims gleefully, throwing his arms up in the air.

“Karga.” Mando acknowledges, his voice keeping low.

“How are you, my friend?”

“Alive.” There’s a hint of jest in Mando’s tone.

The man laughs loudly. “When did you become such a comedian?” A big hand clasps down on his beskar pauldron. The Child in Mando’s hand coos and catches Karga’s attention.

“And how are you, little one?” He reaches out to hold the green gremlin and the bounty hunter allows it, gently handing him over to Karga.

“Alright Mando,” The man begins to say, “Let’s get this over with.” He turns on his heel, the baby still in his arms and takes two steps before shouting over his shoulder, “The quarry can stay here. They’ll be here soon enough to collect the bounties.”

Mando doesn’t exactly look at you, but the helmet does tilt in your direction. He’s just a foot ahead of you and you swear you see his shoulders slouch for a second, like he’s having second thoughts. It’s dumb, you shouldn’t be thinking of something so foolish. He had a job to do, and now he’s done it. You’ll both go your separate ways and never see each other again. That’s how this is supposed to go. That’s how this was going to end ever since he captured you.

Two collectors stand nearby, waiting for Karga to give them the order. As he and Mando pass through the arches, the collectors make their way to you. Swallowing the lump in your throat, refusing to show any weakness or sadness and with as much gusto as you can muster, you call out “Well, it was nice knowing ya, Mando.”

How stupid of you to think you could possibly mean anything more to him than a fucking quarry. He never gave you any indication that he even _liked_ you. He merely tolerated your presence because you were useful. It was nothing more than a transaction between you both, and you could kick yourself for even letting these thoughts roam free in your mind. Forget Mando, forget the kid, forget every fucking person in this world who’s hurt you or left you. When this first started, you wanted Mando to get his credits because you liked him, but now with the ice-hot anger brewing inside of you, you don’t care anymore.

The two collectors—Rodians you infer as they get closer to you, approach the Crest, one of them heading up the ramp into Mando’s ship to collect the quarries in carbonite, the other staying by your side, probably anticipating that you’ll try to make a break for it although realistically, there isn’t a single place you could run _to_. You would either have to run into the city and try to hide or run for the hills. Neither option sounds tempting enough, given the fact that Mando would be on your ass in seconds.

Three carbonite chambers float down the ship, and the collector gives the one by your side a nod of acknowledgement. Your eyebrows pull together as you examine the subtle exchange between both men. The stranger next to you binds your wrists and shoots you a smile that’s anything but kind. The corner of his lip curls into a sinister grin, one that shoots panic up and down your spine. In the corner of your eye, you make out the silhouette of nearby ship. Was that always there?

Wait, shouldn’t there be more than just two members securing the quarries? This doesn’t make any sense. Why aren’t there more people here? _Why is no one else here?_

“Let’s go,” One of them orders. The first one makes a beeline for the ship, leaving behind the quarries from the Crest. Why would Guild members leave behind quarries?

Something’s not right. Your heart is hammering in your chest, adrenaline beginning to pump through your veins, and the urge to fight is starting to prick at every nerve ending in your body. These guys can’t Guild members. Somehow, they’ve fooled everyone.

They urge you forward to the ship in the distance and you plant your feet firmly into the ground. If they manage to get you on that ship, you’re done for. You need to struggle as much as you can and pray to the Maker that someone will realize this whole thing is a set up. 

“Where are you taking me?” Trying to suppress the alarm in your voice, it comes out choked and feeble. A large hand grips your bicep and makes you whimper, their dexterous fingers digging into the thin material of your sleeve. You jerk back, trying to wriggle out of their hold, but it only causes them to tighten the grip around your bicep, pain now shooting up and down your arm.

“Fucking let me go!” You shout, hoping someone—Mando, will hear you, but no one can hear you.

“Oh, shut up!” The Rodian ahead of you shouts before swiftly turning on his heel and stalking towards you. His large fist winds up and _slams_ into your stomach, knocking you completely off balance. If it wasn’t for the other one holding you upright, you would have fallen flat on your back. Nonetheless, you crouch over, wincing at the pain in your abdomen. The men laugh together ruefully, sheer enjoyment displayed on their faces.

“The boss is going to _love_ playing with you,” One of them taunts, leaning down towards you and grabbing hold of your chin so that he can look you in the eyes.

“Fuck you,” You spit out through ragged breaths.

“Why, you little bitch.” A hand comes flying at your face and you brace yourself for the pain, sewing your eyes shut. His green backhand connects with the softness of your cheek with so much force that your head snaps to the side, following the movement of his hand. Your cheek throbs, ripples of pain so intense you feel tears threatening to fall down your cheeks.

The wrath inside you is screaming and clawing at your insides. The whisper in your head commands you to cause them pain. It craves the cries of their sufferings, to see the life drain from their eyes. You’re trying to fight it; you don’t want to let that fucking voice win, but the searing agony from their blows feed the darkness that roars deep within you. You can feel your control slipping, fingers twitching against your will as your attackers try to haul you into their ship.

A beam of red light narrowly misses you, and one of your assailants drops to the floor with a loud thud. Your eyes bounce around you, trying to locate the source of the blast, when you catch the silhouette of shiny beskar running straight for you. There’s no hiding the joy and relief that is so evident on your face. He came back. Somehow, he came back for you.

You can feel the man still holding you start to panic. His body tenses, and he begins frantically pulling you into the ship, but now that you know you’re one-on-one, you waste no time fighting back. Gathering as much force as you can and flailing your bound arms around, his body turns towards you, and straightaway your leg lifts off the ground, slamming your knee right in his crotch. The man yelps in pain, hunching over involuntarily. You use this opportunity to connect your knee with his stomach with so much vigor, his body flies backwards, hitting the ground hard. As you lean over his body, he starts begging and pleading for his life.

“Please, please I was just doing it for the money!” He finally chokes out, his voice filled with pure terror as his hands come up in surrender. That evilness in your mind urges you to make his final moments hurt, to show no mercy for the man who would have certainly not shown you mercy. Shaking your head violently in an effort to cast out the mysterious voice, you wrench your eyes shut.

 _No_.

You hear distance footsteps getting louder and louder, and then stop altogether. Tilting your head ever so slightly to the right, you can see his boots in the corner of your eye. Mando’s testing you. He wants to know if you’ll pull the same stunt you did back on Sorgan. As the man at your feet continues to plead for his life, the vulnerability and desperation in his voice pulls you out of whatever trance you were in.

This man is no different than you. He was given orders, and did what he thought was necessary in order to complete the contract. You can sympathize with that. There are so many things _you’ve_ done in your time as a smuggler—things that have made you question your morals, and how far you’re willing to go to get the job done. Things you’re not proud of, things you now regret. At the end of the day, you’re both just pawns in a much bigger fight, and although you’ve both decided a path with little room for ethics, an unnecessarily harsh death is one you won’t inflict upon him.

You take a deep breath, inhaling in as much air in your lungs as possible, it almost burns them. Squaring your shoulders, you take a step back away from your assailant. That’s all the permission Mando needs, and his pistol comes up and sends a red beam of light right into the man’s chest, silencing him.

“We need to go. There will be more soon.” Mando warns, as he leans down and grabs the key from the dead man’s corpse to unbind your wrists. Your head bobs in acknowledgement, and then you’re both heading for the Crest. Karga’s waiting by the ramp of the ship, holding the Child in his arms. As soon as the little green baby spots you, he tries desperately to wiggle out of Karga’s grip, tiny arms reaching out for you. Mando takes the Child from his friend’s arms and gives him to you. Giant eyes peer up to look at you and the baby coos. Your lips curl up into a smile, taking two fingers to gently rub his ear.

“I had no idea the Empire was after her,” Karga says to Mando sincerely. The man’s gaze then turns to you. “I’m sorry. I should have known something was off about the deal.”

Shaking your head, you offer him a smile. “It’s fine.”

“You two should leave. It’s only a matter of time before someone else comes for them.” _Them? Are they after the kid, too?_

“Yes.” Mando answers matter-of-factly.

Karga nods, and a big hand comes out to shake Mando’s. “Safe travels, Mando.”

His gaze flicks towards you for a second and you offer him another smile and tip of the head before turning around and heading up the ramp to the Crest. You head straight for the cockpit, placing the child in the seat adjacent to yours and strapping him in. Mando comes in right after you, planting himself down in the pilot’s chair. The ships thrusters roar to life and you take off, the Nevarro landscape disappearing the higher your climb into the air.

Now that you actually have time to process what the fuck just happened; the reality of your situation hits you. It’s not the Republic that’s after you, it’s the Empire. The Empire you thought was defeated five years ago. The Empire that that killed thousands, if not millions of people.

Why? Why _you?_ What could possibly be so special about you that the Empire has a fucking bounty on you? Wait, Karga had said ‘them’. Does that mean you and the Child? What could you and the Child possibly have in common that the Empire wants the two of you? Your mind recollects the moment you two shared on Sorgan—where he seemed to communicate something to you but that’s hardly enough of a connection, right? There’s just no way. You’re nothing but a petty smuggler. You haven’t lived a life worthy of being wanted by the fucking Empire. You had a normal childhood, and then went on to smuggling spice. That’s it. There’s literally nothing fucking exceptional about you.

Mando punches in some coordinates and activates the hyperdrive. The gentle hum of hyperspace fills the tension in the cockpit. Neither you nor Mando know what to say. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you start to question whether or not it’s a good idea that you’re even flying with them. If what Karga said is true, and the Empire is hunting you and the kid, surely having the two of you together is too risky. Realistically, you should split off. You should go your separate ways on whatever planet Mando’s set the coordinates for, in an effort to prolong the Imps’ search.

“Where are we going?” Your gentle voice cuts through the gentle purr of hyperspace.

“Tatooine. I have a friend there that owes me a favor.” His voice comes out slightly gruff through the modulator.

Your breath catches in your throat. You haven’t been back to Tatooine since your first smuggling run. After the job with Tye, you had made a decision to become a full-time runner, and vowed never come back to the shithole that was Tatooine, not while there was an infinite amount of galaxy out there that you hadn’t seen yet, leaving your old life and self to rot on that planet. There were too many hurtful memories, too much pain.

A small coo emits from the baby and you look over and see him slouching in his seat, big eyes blinking slowly. The poor thing must be exhausted. Unbuckling your seatbelt, you reach over and wrap him in your arms. He nestles in your lap, letting the sleepiness overcome his little body. At first you consider laying him in his pram and letting him sleep in there, but he’s already fast asleep in your arms before you can put him down, so you decide to let him rest where he is. The adrenaline and stress from the last couple of hours starts to take its toll on you. Exhaustion suddenly overwhelms you, the stiffness in your bones turns to fatigue, and you try to fight your eyelids from closing. You don’t want to fall asleep yet. You want to ask Mando why he came back for you, why he’s helping you, but your body succumbs to the exhaustion and you drift off to sleep, the last thing you hear is the stillness of hyperspace.

* * *

When you wake, the Child is no longer in your arms, and Mando isn’t in the pilot’s chair. Rising to your feet lazily, you drag them over to the control panel to check the status of your route, rubbing your eyes with your palm in order to steady your vision. You’ll be landing on Tatooine in less than an hour, which unfortunately only gives you a small finite amount of time to properly prepare yourself for the onslaught of memories that will smack you in the face once you land.

Maybe no one will remember you. Mos Eisley isn’t exactly the smallest city, meaning there’s chance that no one would even recognize you. All you need to do is avoid the cantinas and merchants you used to frequent back when you lived there and maybe, just maybe you could remain unseen.

Suddenly getting the feeling that someone’s watching you, you strain your neck while turning your head as much as it can, seeing the faintest hint of chrome in the corner of your eye. Turning your body towards the door, the sight of Mando takes you by surprise, and you can’t help but get startled by his sudden presence. You almost forgot how intimidating he actually looks. Even as he stands there doing nothing, there’s a certain level stoicism and command in the way he carries himself, the same way a man who’s a captain of a battalion would carry himself—robust, and proud, however also reserved. There’s no way to gauge what he’s thinking unless he deliberately _tells_ you, and Mando doesn’t like to talk very much. It forces you to anticipate what he would think or how he would feel in every situation you’re both put in, wracking your brain and making it damn near impossible to keep up with him.

The shades of pale blue mixed with white reflect off his beskar armour. His visor is pointed at you, although you can’t be sure if he’s actually looking _at_ you or _through_ you. His stance is stiff which isn’t unusual but there’s a gentleness that radiates off of him. Your throat goes dry, and you’re sure you’re breaking skin from how hard you’re biting your lip. You haven’t had a proper moment alone together since that night on Sorgan, and neither of you spoke about what happened. There’s a lot of unanswered questions you need to discuss, but the thickness of the air around you is becoming overwhelming. You don’t say anything, and stay firmly planted where you stand. The Mandalorian mimics you, refusing to take a step forward. Your heart is thumping against your ribcage, heat coiling in your stomach and making it harder to ignore the wetness beginning to form in your panties. Refusing to show submission, your eyes stayed locked to the ‘T’ of his visor. His hands twitch at his sides, but shows no other kind of movement. He’s still as a fucking tree and somehow that only turns you on even more. He has to be feeling the same way you are right now. It can’t just be you this time.

Mando finally takes one step forward and your breathing hitches. _Stars,_ if he comes any closer, you’re going to explode. You’ve never experienced this kind of tension before. Your body’s never felt so on fire and he hasn’t even touched you, but you desperately want him to. So you mimic his movements and take a step forward, testing him. It’s barely noticeable but somehow his back stiffens even more, chest pushing out faintly. The blood in your ears is deafening, your heart slamming so hard against your chest you feel like passing out.

“What are you doing?” The baritone pulling rough and breathy. Okay, so this _is_ affecting him just as much as it is for you.

Your tongue glides against your bottom lip before biting down on it, hard. Curious to see how far you can push this, you don’t answer him and instead take another small step forward. By now you’re only a couple feet away from each other and the air of the cockpit is disgustingly thick with a need to fuck each other senseless right here and now. His hands ball up into fists and that lets you to know he’s fighting his primal desires. You think you hear short, distorted breaths emit from the helmet, but you’re too far away to be certain. Your panties are fucking soaked, your slick almost dripping down your thighs. It’s been too long since you’ve been fucked, and you _need_ it, _need_ Mando to bend you over the control panel and pound into you like a fucking animal.

It’s like he’s reading your mind, because he closes the gap between you two in a flash. He’s hovering over you, and despite the cool amour he wears, you can feel the heat radiating off him. Your nostrils fill with the smell of gunpowder, and his musk and it takes all your energy not to fucking whimper. Only Mando can get you this worked up when nothing’s even happened yet.

One of his brown leather-gloved hands comes up to touch your arm. If you thought your breathing was irregular before, well now you’re basically suffocating as his hand hovers your arm and you want to scream at him to touch you—beg him to do what you can’t bring yourself to do. _Please, Mando._

Right as you feel a glove graze your arm, the ship jumps out of hyperspace, and in an instant your moment is over. His hand drops back to his side and you let out a deep breath of disappointment. Your shoulders slump, and your head drops, staring at the floor. Instinctively, you slither out of his way so he can slip into the pilot’s chair.

The radio comes to life, static filling the cockpit before a female voice emanates from the speaker. “Razor Crest, this is Mos Eisley Tower. We’ve picked up your signal. Head for bay three-five, over.” 

“This is Razor Crest, locked in for three-five.” Mando answers coolly, as if two minutes ago there wasn’t an unbelievable amount of sexual tension between you two. You try to hide your annoyance at the fact that he can snap in and out of a moment so quickly. He’s seemed to have forgotten all about it unlike you who can’t seem to snap out of it. You reluctantly sit in your seat, shifting uncomfortably due to the stickiness of your underwear.

As you descend into Tatooine airspace, your nerves begin spiraling. Both your legs bounce off the ground, and your hands twiddle in your lap. If there’s one thing you fucking hate, it’s sand. Maker, you hate how the sand feels against your shoes, never giving you enough solid ground to walk properly. Constantly twisting your ankles because the sand concaved in certain areas. How it _always_ fucking found its way into your shoes, your clothes, your hair. You could take four sonic showers and still feel fucking sand in places it should never be in. Then there was the absolutely incomprehensible fact that water was scarce here. A bare necessity for everyone to survive had to be farmed like vegetation. Curse the Maker for this planet. You’re not sure what planet you hated more, Kijimi or Tatooine.

Mando lands the Crest in the hangar the operator told him to, and your brows furrow looking at your surroundings. This hangar looks familiar. It’s not the one your parents owned, but you definitely recognize the random discarded parts scattered throughout the area. You hope you’re wrong, that Mando didn’t land in the only hangar that you’d know.

The Mandalorian rises from his seat and begins to make his way to the ladder. “Let’s go.” He calls out before climbing down the rungs. For a moment, you consider asking if you could stay in the ship the whole time you’re docked here, but it would be a ridiculous thing to ask. You’re an adult, and you have to confront your past, no matter how ugly it is. Reluctantly, you slide out of your seat and climb down the steps. The cubbyhole where Mando’s cot is located is shut, and you assume the Child was sleeping in there. He presses a button on his vambrace and the door slides open, the kid sits patiently at the door. Mando scoops up the Child, a tiny green hand immediately clutches onto one of Mando’s gloved fingers. The ramp opens slowly, and even from far away you instantly recognize the woman standing at the bottom of the ramp.

“Mando!” Peli exclaims, throwing her arms in the air and then resting them on her hips.

Peli fucking Motto. You’ve known her since you were a child. She was a difficult woman, to say the least. Not the most generous person—she only ever did someone a favor if there was something in it for her. You never personally worked for her, and there was a reason she only ever had droids as her workers. She was the type of woman who barked orders at everyone in her employment. What Peli lacked in size, she made up for in attitude.

Mando descends the ramp before you, your legs refusing to move. As soon as Peli catches sight of the baby, the tough exterior you’ve only ever seen disappears into a gentle, kinder demeanor. Mando hands her the baby and she wraps her arms around him, her hand gently caressing the little hairs on the Child’s head. The baby squeals in excitement. Her gaze leaves the baby to face Mando only for a moment, before locking her eyes with yours.

“Who’s your friend?” She asks him. Your face is covered by the shadows of the Crest, disguising your features. Holding your head up high and pushing your shoulders back, you walk down the ramp. Her face turns from curiosity to anger, fast. Eyebrows scrunching up and lips forming a tight line, she scoffs. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Hi, Peli.” Your voice dripping in sarcasm.

“What the hell are you doing back here?”

“Believe me, I wouldn’t be here if I had the choice.”

Peli eyes stay locked on yours. You know that saying, ‘if looks could kill’? You’re pretty sure you’d be dead right now if that were true.

“It’s a bad idea to get involved with this one, Mando.” She turns to look at the visor. “She’s always been trouble.”

This time you let out a laugh, hand coming to sit on your hip. “That’s such bullshit, Peli and you know it,” Using your free hand to point a finger at her, punching out your next jab at her. “You’re the difficult one.”

“That’s rich coming from the _spice smuggler_.” Her last words dripping like venom.

You bite down hard on your jaw, wanting to argue, but in this very rare case, she’s actually right. It’s just one of the many truths you’ll have to face being back here.

“Anyway,” She says before turning away from you to face the Mandalorian to her right. “What can I help you with, Mando?”

“The hyperdrive needs to be fixed, and I need to refuel.”

“I’m surprised _this_ one hasn’t offered her services.” Peli shoots you a glare.

“ _I_ did fix it but—” You begin to say but Mando cuts you off before you can finish.

“We were stranded, and it was only partially fixed. If I’m to make it to the next destination, I need to be at above 70%.”

“Sure thing, boss. We can get that fixed.” She shifts her weight to walk away from you both, but before she can call her droids, you call out to her. “There’s a problem.”

She turns her torso just enough to look in your direction, “With you? Why am I not surprised?” Rolling her eyes, she continues to stare you down.

“Look Peli, if you have something to say,” You taunt, taking a step towards her. “Then say it.”

Challenging you, she steps towards you as well. The Child in her arm fusses worriedly, and you almost back down from the confrontation when you realize this might be scaring the little guy. “Oh, I got _a lot_ to say, kid.”

“That’s enough.” Mando orders. As reason comes back to you and somewhat clears your mind, it’s probably not a good idea to start a fight with the only person that can fix his ship and potentially get you off this planet, so you back off and step back.

“The Empire is after her,” Mando starts to explain. Peli shoots you _another_ stare and rolls her eyes again. “We fought them off on Nevarro, but we don’t know how much time we’ll have until they come back.”

Despite her very obvious resentment towards you, she nods and forces a smile—not very comforting, but it’s enough to put you both at ease. “Don’t worry, Mando. I’ll have her ready as soon as possible.”

“Thank you.”

You continue to stare at Peli with daggers in your eyes. There’s a lot of undealt with animosity between you both, but you’re not sure you’ll have time to settle it. “We’re gonna go try and find a lead. Maybe someone here will know why she’s wanted. Can you watch the Child in the meantime?” He asks.

“ _Can_ I? Mando, this little guy is the only reason I let you in my hangar. This little womp rat has found a way into ol’ Peli’s heart.” She says affectionately, looking down at the baby and blabbing some nonsense. The kid responds by giggling and using his little arms to reach out and touch the finger that wiggles in front of him.

“Didn’t know you had a heart,” You whisper under your breath. Peli doesn’t seem to hear you, but Mando does because you hear a sigh comes from the vocoder. “That’s enough.” He orders, just loud enough for you to hear him.

Even though it’s been five, almost six years since you’ve been here, everything still looks the same. The whole city is devoid of color, just various shades of beige and whites as far as the eye could see. Every single home and every cantina stand like monuments made of fucking sand, showing no detail or artistry in their structure. It’s like every piece of culture from around the galaxy comes to Mos Eisley and dies, leaving only taupe boringness behind. It’s possible you’re being too harsh on the city, but you were born here so you have the right to be a bitch about it.

You never thought you’d be back here, breathing in the fucking dry, gritty filled air you grew up breathing in. It’s as stuffy and suffocating as you remember it, maybe even worse than you remember it. As the sun blazes down on you and Mando, you can admit there is _one_ thing you actually do like about Tatooine. The sun was always out, always scorching hot and always beaming down on your skin, leaving a beautiful golden tint to your complexion. You could stay out all day and never develop a burn; your body was so used to the heat. Now, you wonder if that’s changed. Rolling up the sleeves of your tunic up to your elbow, the sun instantly pricks at your skin. The heat feels like a giant hug, caressing your untouched skin. Okay, maybe there was _one_ thing you missed about Tatooine.

You both walk cautiously around the city looking for a cantina in the hopes of finding someone who might know what Empire wanted from you, but also keeping an eye out for possible threats. He treads a couple feet ahead of you, but you don’t mind. So far, you haven’t really recognized anyone, and no one’s seemed to recognize you. Just a couple more days and you can put this all behind you. There are plenty of vendors out, selling everything from fabric for clothing to food from other planets, to parts for ships. People from various walks of life mingle throughout the city. A few vendors away, you see a couple of Jawas trying to bargain for some old, outdated ship parts. The Jawas were always on the hunt for miscellaneous scrap metal parts, as well as other junk. To each their own, you guess. You’ve had a couple dealings with Jawas. They were sneaky, and smart despite their appearance. You had always tried to avoid making transactions with them if at all possible.

On your right, you see an older gentleman selling some garments, and the realization pops into your head that you _do_ need new clothes. Since you weren’t planning on all of this happening, the only clothes you have are the ones on your back, and the ones you accidentally left behind on Sorgan. You’re in desperate need for new clothes.

“I’ll be right back,” You tell Mando before making a beeline for the old man’s stand. You don’t wait for Mando to acknowledge you.

“Hi there, traveler.” The man greets, using a cane to rise to his feet from the stool he was sitting on beforehand.

You offer him the same genuine smile he shows to you before letting your hands touch and feel the various assortment of garments placed before you on the table. “These are beautiful.” You remark.

“Thank you. My wife’s the one who sews them. She does all the work. I just sell them afterwards,” He humbly admits. Your eyes stay peeled to the numerous amount of attires on display in front of you, but still keeping that smile on your face. “Oh, hi sir. Can I interest you in anything?” He says, a mix of shock and kindness in his tone. You look up and notice Mando by your side.

“Nothing for me, thank you.” He says politely.

You decide on some charcoal-colored trousers that has some pockets sewn in on each side of the thighs, along with a white short-sleeved tunic. The merchant also sells backpacks, so you also buy one of those to store your new clothes in until you can get back to the Crest. It’s only once you start digging in your pockets that you’re embarrassingly aware that you have no credits on you. Mando picks up on the sudden realization and pulls out credits of his own and hands them over to the old man.

“I’ll find a way to pay you back,” You try to reassure him.

“It’s fine,” Mando replies.

The man bows and thanks you both for your business, and you nod in return before continuing your walk through the city.

After a few more minutes of walking, Mando spots a cantina just a couple buildings away and of course it’s the _one_ cantina you hoped not to visit. It’s the one place you and Tye would frequent when you both lived here, and the owner of the establishment knew you both by name. The both of you had visited that cantina on pretty much a daily basis, playing sabacc with other locals, and getting way too drunk.

As you get closer to the door of the cantina, you stop in your tracks, your feet becoming cement blocks. It doesn’t take Mando long to notice that you’re no longer walking behind him, so when he does, he turns his body to see where you are and heads for you.

“What’s wrong?”

“Isn’t there another cantina we can check out?”

A sigh exists the helmet and big gloved hands come to rest on his hips. “Why?”

“I don’t know, I just feel like maybe there’s another cantina we can visit.”

“Why would we do that when there’s one right here?” His tone becomes faintly more irritated, probably because you’re wasting valuable time trying to run away from your past.

Your mouth opens to justify your apprehension, but there isn’t a single justifiable reason not to head into the cantina. Mouth forming a thin line, you shrug and start for the tavern.

The cantina is loud, all kinds of walks of life are gathered inside mingling. You stop just at the top of the stairs and begin scanning the area, looking for a quiet table you both can sit at. Mando clearly has other ideas because he doesn’t even bother to look around before heading straight for the bar. “Mando—” You call out, but he’s too far ahead to hear you, and the noise from the patrons inside drowns out your voice. The noise that escapes your lips is definitely full of annoyance, but there’s no telling Mando what to do. You follow suit, and stand a couple feet away from him, your back turned to his as you continue to look out for anyone you might know.

You can’t hear the exchange between the bartender and Mando, but by his posture, you guess he doesn’t receive any good news. Form what you can make out through the noise of the cantina, the droid behind the bar informs Mando that no one from the Empire has stepped foot in Mos Eisley in weeks, so the likelihood of anyone knowing anything is slim to none.

“Let’s go. There’s nothing here.” Mando’s voice cuts through the vocoder. You nod and head for the exit. One cantina down, only…too many more left.

Once back in the heat, you both continue to make your way through the city, taking random turns down streets less populated than the main path. You’re still being cautious over being seen by either someone from your past or someone looking to collect your bounty, but you’re much more relaxed now. Being back gives you a sense of familiarity and there’s a slight twinge of nostalgia that reminds you of your childhood. Every street you pass, every building you take notice of—it’s all things you’ve seen before. You can remember running down this _exact_ street with Tye due to a game of tag. A couple streets away there was a food stand that sold the most amazing magenta colored fruit you had ever tasted in your life. It was a rare treat that only came in once every season, but it was so worth it. The fruit was sweet, and so full of juices that whenever you ate it, its nectars would trinkle down your chin and onto your tunic. Your mother always scolded you for eating without being careful, but it never stopped you from dirtying your shirt anyways. As you pass by where the stand used to be, all you see is an abandoned kiosk. _Of course,_ it’s no longer there.

The sun’s beginning to set now, turning the sky into mixture of pastel pinks, blues, and purples that swirl around like an abstract painting. The streets are also starting to become less crowded; vendors are starting to pack up their stands for the day, and most of the locals are gathering in the cantinas for a night of gambling and drinking. You’re not sure when you began trailing behind Mando, but you follow him as he makes his way through the roads. Your arms are crossed against your body, the mental exhaustion of the day is starting to take its toll on your body.

He spots another cantina on the way back to the ship. There’s an unspoken conversation that occurs between you both. He tilts the helmet in the direction of the cantina, and your your shoulder lifts in the air in response. He walks in first then waits for you. When you’ve caught up to him, out of habit you take in your surroundings and take a scan of the room.

He crouches down and whispers in your ear. “Find us a booth. I’ll be there shortly.” The baritone of his voice cutting right through you and hitting a part of you inside that hasn’t been touched in ages. You can’t control the way your body reacts when he’s that close to you—the hairs on your arms standing up, the small shudder that went traveled from your spine down to between your thighs. You’re instantly reminded of the moment you two shared back in the cockpit of the Crest. You’re not sure if you’ll ever get to have another moment like that again, but you’ll live in that moment for as long as you possibly can if that’s all you’ll ever have.

There’s an empty booth at the back of the cantina so naturally that’s the booth you break for. Once you’re seated, you catch Mando talking to the droid behind the bar. A lot of the patrons inside are eyeing the Mandalorian, and you’d be lying if there wasn’t a dash of pride that hits you. Seeing a Mandalorian is rare enough as it is, so seeing a Mandalorian enter a cantina with someone else who’s not Mandalorian? You’re sure this is the first time anyone in here has seen either.

It’s hard not to stare at him. You have no idea what he looks like underneath that helmet, and there’s not even a part of you that cares. It’s all in his body language. You thought of him as a heartless hunter, a man made of beskar—inside and out, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. He has the kid and cares deeply for him. Mando portrays himself as a warrior, a strong, stoic man who abides by rules and discipline, but he went back for the Child. He came back for you. It’s true, he doesn’t talk much, doesn’t divulge in talking about his past or about his Creed, but there’s a softness to him, a gentleness that you know not many people have seen, and somehow you’ve been lucky enough to see it.

“Care for some company, baby?”

Your gaze shifts from Mando to the foul man standing to your right. His breath reeks of alcohol, and he can barely keep himself upright without swaying in every direction. He’s holding two empty glasses in one hand and a bottle of liquid in the other.

Your eyebrows pull together, and you can’t help the way your nose scrunches up at the smell of him. “No, thanks.” You reply politely. However, there is a stern tone to your voice.

“Oh, come on,” The man stumbles even though he hasn’t even moved. He loses balance and falls into the booth, now just a couple feet away from where you’re sitting. “What’s a gal like you sitting all by yourself on a fine night like tonight, hmmm?”

His hand reaches out to touch your hand, but your reflexes are much faster than his. You grab onto his wrist before it can get too close to you, and you apply pressure on the grip. His face scrunches up, and you know he’s feeling the firmness of your control. “I said no. Now, back off.”

Your hold slacks and you let go, pushing his arm and hearing it land on the table. Sliding out of the booth, you head straight for Mando who’s still standing at the bar. Before you can call out for him, you feel a large hand come down on your bicep and whip you around.

“We just want to show you a good time, bitch.” Another man bellows. You figure he’s with the creep that’s still sitting in your booth. Your body reacts before your mind can process what’s happening. Your hand balls into a fist, reaching far back to gain as much momentum as possible, then comes slamming into the man’s nose. Bone cracks and you can’t believe you just broke that fucker’s nose. He wails in pain, his hands flying to cover his face. Blood is pooling down his hands and onto the floor. Stars, you didn’t know you could hit _that_ hard.

“I’ll kill you, you fucking bitch!” Someone else shouts and they’re running for you, pushing down others in their path. You prepare to fight but a gloved hand grabs your wrist before you can do any more damage. Mando blocks your entire body with his, and the attacker running stops dead in his tracks, almost tripping on his own feet with pure terror in his eyes. Mando doesn’t even have to do anything before all three men are apologizing profusely and retreating as fast as they came down on you. Everyone knows it’s a fool’s errand to pick a fight with a Mandalorian. They’re not called the greatest warriors in the galaxy for no reason.

“We should head back to the ship before we cause any more trouble,” Your voice is lighthearted, but Mando doesn’t respond. Taking his silence as a ‘yes’, you turn on your heel and make your way out of the cantina and onto the street. Walking out of there and feeling the warm breeze against your hot skin feels amazing. The adrenaline is still pumping through your veins and all the tiredness from your body is momentarily wiped away.

Mando finally appears behind you, and you take the lead on the way back to the ship while he continues to stroll behind you. Nightfall had arrived on Mos Eisley, and the only light that’s given are the dimly lit lanterns posted every few metres along the streets. Unless you’re a frequent visitor or a local, one could easily get lost at night. You on the other hand could make your way through the city with your eyes closed.

You don’t have time to process it, but you’re being pulled into an alley. Mando’s grip on your arm is firm, but he makes sure not to hurt you. There’s only one lantern in the backstreet, and you can barely see anything in front of you. He continues to pull you further and further into the alley until you’re sure no one would see either of you even if you were just three feet in front of you.

When he finally lets go of your arm, he’s standing in front of you at arm’s length. You can make out his silhouette only because the moon’s glow reflects off the beskar he’s wearing. Your eyes flicker up and down his body, trying to gauge why he’s doing this, but he gives you absolutely no indication.

“Uh, what are we doing here, Mando?”

“Take the bag off,” He orders, his voice scratching at a dangerously low register. Sliding your arms out of the straps, the bag drops to the floor.

You’re not scared of him, you know he wouldn’t hurt you, but you’re definitely cautious, and you can’t help the fight or flight instinct that’s overcoming you. Ever so slowly, he stalks towards you. Out of impulse, you take a step back and another and another and another until your back hits the wall behind you. Heart thumping in your chest, and your mouth drier than the fucking Tatooine sand dunes, desire pooling in your stomach. His broad chest encircles you. The cuirass grazes against your chest and you can feel the cool beskar against your burning skin. You want to reach out and touch him, but you don’t know where so instead you keep your hands by your thighs, your pussy throbbing so much it hurts. You don’t know what the fuck is happening, but you want more. You _need_ more. The moment in the cockpit doesn’t hold a candle to this. _This_ is something else—needy, desperate.

Mando’s breathing is uneven, that’s about the only thing you can make out. The vocoder distorts his breaths, making them scratchy and rough. Your chest is heaving with how unsteady your own breathing is. You’ve never been this turned on by someone who hasn’t even touched you.

“Fuck,” Mando murmurs, the baritone of his voice dangerously low. Both arms come up and he rests his palms on the wall behind you, fully boxing you in. Your throat is so dry, it feels like its suffocating you. Quick, shaky breaths escape your lips, and Mando is so fucking close to you, you can see the condensation emerging on his helmet from your pants.

“Tell me stop,” He’s basically growing now, the heat between you two becoming too much. It’s desperate, like he’s unable to control himself so he’s asking you to. It might be nightfall, but you’re still out in public, and despite the fact that you both could be caught any second now, it somehow spurs you both on. The thrill and risk of being _this_ intimate frightens and fucking excites you.

Maker, you want it. You’ve wanted him since the moment you laid eyes on him back on Kijimi. Ever since then you’ve been fighting your attraction to him. Mando didn’t seem like the type to fuck quarries then turn them in, so you had made the conclusion that nothing could ever happen between you two. That quickly changed when you were alone in the cockpit. You had felt the shift in your relationship. No longer were you the only one struggling to bottle up the sexual tension that clearly presented itself whenever you were together. He was just as needy as you were.

“I—” You try to speak, but with the blood pounding in your ears, your mind is going blank. You can’t even force a coherent sentence, the heat is so fucking intense, you’re drowning in it.

A leather glove brushes the loose strands of hair out of your face and tucks them behind your ear. You lean into the touch, closing your eyes and letting a moan escape your lips. It’s such a simple gesture, but because Mando—a man who can kill with his bare hands is the one doing it, makes it so comforting.

Since words aren’t coming to your mind, you resort to using your body to communicate. Your hands are still trembling at your sides but you muster as much strength as you can and grab Mando’s hips, pulling them towards you until his body clashes with yours. His cock is rock hard in his pants, and instinctively, you spread your legs so he can slide one of his own between yours, moaning gently at the feeling of his bulge against your pussy.

“ _Stars_ …” He mutters, one arm still planted next to your head and the other coming down to your hip and digging his glove into the material of your pants. The helmet comes right up to your ear now, “Do you want me to fuck you in this alley?” It’s dirty, his voice hitting that sweet spot inside of you that nearly has you combusting on the spot. “Someone might see us.” He’s fucking taunting you and whether or not he actually does want you to push him away, there’s a mutual understanding that that won’t be happening.

The corners of your lips curl into a sly smile. You’re not scared to make a scene, to give some passerby a filthy show. Your next words come out slow, savoring every single moment you can right now. “Then let’s give them a good show.”

The noise that comes through the helmet is animalistic, somewhere between a mewl and a fucking growl. Grabbing both your hips, he flips you around so you’re facing the wall, you palms come flying up to stop yourself from smacking face first into it. With one hand still on your hip, he uses his other hand to hold your stomach and pull you closer to him, your back arching and bending over slightly, his cock lining up perfectly along your backside. A moan slips from your lips and that just spurs him off. The hand on your stomach trails down, cupping your sex over your pants. Maker, you can feel your slick dripping down your thigh from how much this is turning you on. Distant voices pass you by, but you don’t care. Nothing else matters right now, not when Mando is holding you like this, touching you the way you thought was only possible in your daydreams.

The grip on your hip slackens, lifting your tunic just enough to expose soft skin underneath then wrapping his arm around your torso to keep you glued to him. A thumb plays with the waistband of your pants, a delicious taunt that only makes you whine with anticipation.

“Do you want me to touch you?” Mando snarls in your ear. He’s resting his head on your shoulder, the metal digging into your neck and cheek. It’s a little uncomfortable but you’re too entranced to care about anything else other than him touching you wherever he wants. You moan helplessly against him but his hand doesn’t move, just continues to graze the exposed skin near your waistband. He’s relentless, continuing his slow assault, waiting for you to find the words to speak.

“ _Please…_ ” You choke out.

“Please, what?” He sneers gingerly. “You need to use your words.”

It comes as a shock just how submissive you are. You’ve always considered yourself a dominant when it came to others, but somehow Mando’s completely flipped the script on you. You aren’t in control, you can barely throw two words together without needing to catch your breath, but you’d be lying if this wasn’t the most turned on you’ve ever been in your life.

“Yes… _please_ touch me,” You cry out, shifting your hips so you can feel his cock against your behind.

“Good girl,” He praises before dipping his hand down inside your trousers and cupping your sex. He gathers your slick around his gloved fingers and begins rubbing circles over your clit. “ _Fuck_ , you’re so wet,” Letting out a satisfied moan, the baritone of his voice pierces through you, your pussy gushing at the sound. You moan so loudly you’re positive anyone nearby could hear you.

“ _Shhh_ ,” Mando whispers into your ear as the pressure on your clit become more intense. Your body is on fire, the heat in your belly driving you to climax as his fingers continue their assault on your pussy.

There’s a faint sound of static, but you try to push it out of your memory. You don’t want him to stop, not when you’re on the verge of orgasm.

“… _Mando? Mando, are you there?_ ” A female voice pokes through the commlink on Mando’s vambrace. His movements still and an irritated sigh scratches through his helmet before he pulls his hand from your trousers, then taking a couple steps back so you can turn around to face him, leaning back into the wall awkwardly. Lifting an arm to the helmet, he presses one of the buttons on his forearm. 

“Yes, Peli?” His voice is surprisingly steady, considering two seconds ago he was fucking your pussy with his hand.

“Uh… The kid is having some kind of breakdown,” The radio causes her voice to come out rough, and you can hear a little bit of a disturbance in the background. “I think he misses you and his way of telling me that to tear my hangar apart!”

“We’re on our way,” He says into his wrist, not bothering to wait for her response and heading back for the main road.

You continue to lean against the wall for a couple of seconds, trying to process how this all happened so quickly. One minute you were walking back to the Crest with Mando, then he was pulling you into an alley for what you thought was going to be the best sex of your life, and now he’s already heading back to the ship like nothing even happened.

When Mando looks over his shoulder and realizes you’re not walking behind him, he stops and waits for you. “Are you coming?” He asks, a hint of annoyance in his tone.

“ _I wish_ ,” You mumble to yourself before kicking off the wall behind you to stand up straight. Bending over to grab the straps of your bag and throwing it over your shoulders, your feet drag as you walk, letting disappointment engulf you. This was not how you wanted the night to end.

And the walk back is…a little awkward. Neither of you speak, but you continue to walk side by side. Your arms are crossed against your chest, and you keep your eyes peeled to the ground. Every now and then, you peak upwards to get a glimpse of Mando who’s walking on your left, but his visor stays glued to what’s in front of him—his head never once turning to look down at you. It’s infuriating, really. You’re sulking, maybe even acting a little childish, but it had been weeks since you’ve been touched by another person and the _one_ night Mando finally decides to make a move, you get rudely interrupted. Not to mention your panties are fucking soaked and the walk back is only making you more uncomfortable. Your eyes shift to Mando’s right hand and a shrewd smile smears onto your face. Your slick is on Mando gloves. That realization is enough to turn you on. Hopefully whatever the kid is up to won’t take too much time to sort out, and then maybe you two can finish your little encounter in the alley.

When you reach the hangar, you don’t see anything out of place. To be fair, Peli’s hangar is always a mess so to you, it all seems normal. Peli stands at the foot of the ramp, looking a little rougher than usual. There are specks of grease on her skin, and her curly hair sticks out in all kinds of directions.

“What the hell have you been feeding this kid since the last time I saw you?” She challenges, storming towards you both.

“I don’t…” Mando begins to say, but Peli interrupts, a hand shooting up before he can finish his sentence. “The kid was _full_ of energy, and I mean _full_. He messed with my droids, did this weird little hand thing and my bolts started floating in the air!” Her arms waving around as she tells the story. “Floating! Did you know he could do that?”

Mando shifts his weight to one leg, both his hands resting on his utility belt. “Yes.”

Peli scoffs. “Well, a heads up would have been nice.”

“Where is he now?” Your tone comes out more aggressive than you intended, but given the circumstances of your relationship, you don’t believe niceties are essential.

Peli scowls at you, before turning her attention to Mando and answering the question. “I was somehow able to put him to bed while we waited for you. He’s in the ship.” Her hand coming up to point behind her towards the hull of the Crest. Mando places a hand on her shoulder— _not the same one he used on you thank the maker,_ and thanks her sincerely. He explains to her that you were both unable to find any leads but will try again tomorrow.

He climbs the ramp to check on the kid, and you follow suit, but not before shooting giving Peli one last look, your eyes piercing into hers with invisible vibroblades. She returns the favor and turns on her heel, heading to her office.

Once inside the ship, your eyes feel unbearably heavy and the fatigue hits you all at once. In the last few days, you’ve probably only gotten eight hours of sleep—more like a series of power naps that could be considered eight hours when you bundle them all up, and now your bones ache, craving the sweet release that is rest—but first? You need a shower. To clean off all the dirt from the sand that’s passed through the air and onto your skin, and to clean up the mess that’s between your thighs.

Mando checks on the kid who is right where Peli said he was—in the cubbyhole they both sleep in. “Hey kid,” he says softly while lightly caressing the hammock he threw together for the kid to sleep in.

“I’m gonna freshen up,” You announce as you head for the fresher. Mando only tilts in your direction and tips the helmet down, giving you only the slightest indication that he understood you.

It’s a bit of a struggle to get undressed in the fresher. The space is just so kriffing small, it’s a wonder how Mando is able to do it. When all your clothes are off, you toss them behind you and angle your body underneath the hose. Cool water hits your tired skin and you recoil from the sudden freezing temperature. After a few seconds though, the water warms up into a delightfully warm hug, and your tense shoulders finally relax. The water pressure is a little harsher than what you’ve gotten used to, but it feels nice on your back. It feels like a massage, pushing down on your muscles, releasing the tautness that had built up throughout the day. Looking down at the drain, you notice a red hue to the water, and your brows pull together tightly, eyes scanning your body to see where the blood could be coming from. As you begin to inspect your hands, you notice three small gashes on your left hand where your knuckles are. Your memory flashes back to the cantina where you struck that man square in the nose. A chuckle echoes in the walls of the fresher as you remember the fear smeared on his face right before you connected your fist with his nose.

Water continues to cascade on your sun-kissed skin as you grab the bar of soap resting on the ledge and begin to scrub every inch of Mos Eisley grime off your frame. Naturally, your mind wanders—as one’s mind usually does while taking a shower. Closing your eyes, you imagine the fingers tracing your skin are big, leather gloved hands instead. Dancing across your chest, goosebumps forming under your skin as the touch shifts down between your breasts, to your stomach and rests in the middle of your thighs.

You shouldn’t—you _really_ shouldn’t do this. Not when Mando is right outside the fresher, not when he would _definitely_ hear you if you got yourself to come, but then again maybe you should let him hear you. The image of him hearing you moan as you bring yourself to orgasm in _his_ fresher, _his_ ship is enough of an incentive for you to bring your hand up to your pussy and slowly dragging your fingers between your wet folds. It doesn’t take long before your fucking soaking, slick mixed with water. Fighting the whimpers that are caught in your throat, you bite down on your bottom lip, and lean against the metal wall to steady yourself as you fuck yourself to orgasm.

Even as the sound of water masks some of obscene noises you’re making, if Mando’s still somewhere nearby, he’ll hear you. Two fingers rub against your swollen clit, and you convince yourself they’re fingers covered in brown leather. The heat in your stomach coils, your orgasm bubbling to the surface. It feels so fucking wrong and it feels so fucking right. Thank the Maker for the wall keeping you upright because your knees are quaking, the flashes of pure ecstasy making it damn near impossible to keep yourself from crying out. You’re seeing stars, the sensation starting to become too intense, you’re on the verge of coming, speeding up your rhythm so you can finally feel its sweet release. Your orgasm rips through you, white-hot pleasure punches the moan lodged in your throat, unable to catch it in time before it echoes through the walls of the fresher. There’s no way he didn’t hear that, but you really don’t give a shit.

Your hand drops to your side as your body rides out the aftershocks of your orgasm, chest heaving and knees buckling. The steam from the water mixed with your labored breathing post-orgasm makes it way too difficult to breathe. You feel like you’re suffocating, and now that you’re fully relaxed, the exhaustion really taking its toll on you.

Grabbing the new garments you bought from one of the kind gentleman, you slip them on and push the button to open the fresher door. The cool air from the Crest is a breath of fresh air, and you let as much air fill your lungs as humanly possible, taking notice that the ship is dimly lit. You don’t immediately see any sign of Mando, so you poke your head to left, wondering if he might be with the Child. The entrance is shut, and assume that means he’s gone to sleep. You take to the ladder, and use whatever strength you have left—and it’s not much, to climb the rungs to the cockpit. Sleeping in the chair isn’t the most comfortable for your neck or back or any part of your body for that matter, but it’s the only place you think to sleep in, therefore until Mando tells you otherwise, you’ll continue to sleep in this kriffing chair.

It’s when you reach the top of the ladder that you notice the tip of chrome poking through the headrest of the pilot’s chair.

Mando.

Keeping your movements as quietly as you can in the off chance he’s sleeping, you manage to slither in your seat and really _try_ to get comfortable, but it’s truly impossible to do that so you give up quickly and lean a little in the chair, your butt touching the edge of the seat, and your back at an angle. It’s probably worse for your back to be in this position but you refuse to sit up straight in the seat, you definitely won’t be able to sleep that way. Your arms stretch across your chest and let out a deep breath through your lips before closing your eyes.

“By the way,” A deep, rough voice cuts through the silence in the cockpit. Your eyes shoot open and your breath catches in your throat, hanging onto every word Mando says. “The fresher isn’t soundproof.”

Your body sinks back into the chair, cheeks burning hot with equal parts embarrassment and satisfaction. There’s no point in trying to come up with a witty response, because you shamelessly wanted him to hear you. Shutting your eyes again, it’s damn near impossible to hide the devilish grin that’s smeared all over your smug face.


	4. Pushing Each Others Limits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warnings: oral sex (male receiving), drinking that leads to the sexual stuff, more angst (because I like to make myself suffer), sub/dom mentions, a bit of gambling, oh and the reader is pretty much a brat :)
> 
> A/N: so I did a _little bit_ of research on sabacc and it's a lot more complex than I thought so watch me make shit up about the game. Also, the reader and grogu have a little moment while using the "force", I know that Jedi can sometimes sense emotions and reads minds, so why can't they show them the past hahahaha??? 
> 
> So there's not _much_ plot in this one as I felt the plot coming in too quickly if that makes any sense, so this one is just a fun chapter and major plot will continue in the next one!

“And why can’t I come with you?”

Mando’s sigh is heavily distorted by the vocoder, and the eye slit in the helmet continues to study you. Hands resting on his hips, he hovers over your body, scolding you like a child. “Because I said so.”

Chuffing out a scoff, your eyes roll dramatically as you press him again, forcing to crane your neck in order to maintain your gaze, “That’s such bullshit, Mando.”

“Too fucking bad.”

Fists white knuckling at your sides, your eyebrows are pulled together tightly, feeling the childlike anger bubbling inside of you. Deep down, you know Mando’s right. It’s becoming increasingly riskier for you to keep roaming the streets, but being stuck in the hangar with Peli is the last thing you want to be doing. You’d much rather be out, no matter how dangerous it might be.

“I am more than capable of handling my own, thank you for very much.” You warn before stomping your way over to the door to the hangar, but before you can even get close enough to the door, your body is yanked backwards, a large hand gripping your arm and whipping you to face the Mandalorian.

“Can you just listen for _once_?” He growls, broad chest looming over your smaller figure. Your throat goes dry instantly—this being the first time in two days that he’s been this close to you.

Neither of you have spoken about what happened on your first night here, and since then Mando’s been keeping his distance. Once again, he’s keeping you at bay, forcing you to guess what the hell is going on under that bucket of a helmet he wears.

Having a knack for reading people, it’s always been impossible to hide things from you because you were continuously capable of finding out the truth based on body language or facial expressions. Given the fact that Mando’s face is covered by kriffing beskar, you have no way of trying to get a read on him. It’s just a blank space, and no matter how hard your eyes focus on the slightest movement of his body or tilt of his head, you’re stuck guessing what he could be thinking.

So in truth, you’re a little resentful, and hurt. What happened in that alley was more than just a spur of the moment type of thing. You felt it—it had been building up since you both met, and since then the tension had become so disgustingly thick that it was bound to take you both over, but now? It’s like you’re back to square one. Actually no, it’s like he’s purposely ignoring you, as if _he_ doesn’t want anything to do with you, but has no choice since you’re essentially stuck with him.

But despite this gnawing feeling that you’ve worn out your welcome, you’d still rather spend the day with him than with Peli. At least with Mando, the chances of him making small talk are low; an outburst between you and the owner of the hangar is much more likely.

And now you’re stuck in a stare down with Mando. Visor watching you, you stare back in defiance with one eyebrow raised, and your jaw angled. He probably thinks the longer he keeps his gaze on you that you’ll eventually give in to what he wants, but you’re not _that_ submissive. You rarely give into intimidation, and quite honestly, there’s a part of you that enjoys seeing him get this worked up. Wanting to know just how far you can push your luck, you take one step closer until you’re merely inches away from cool chrome durasteel. Your body is burning up, heartrate rising and rising until it’s thumping against your ribcage, and you swear you can see his chest puff out slightly.

The hand on your arm releases and balls up as his side. Quick breaths emit from the vocoder, and you bite down on your lip to stop the smile from creeping up on your lips. It shouldn’t bring you this much satisfaction seeing him get agitated, but your ego is flourishing right now.

Pushing your limits even further, you lean into his body ever so slowly, and whisper breathlessly into the side of his helmet, “ _Please_ let me come with you.”

Mando’s shoulders stiffen and his chest heaves, the cuirass brushing against your breasts. You start to think he might be considering letting you come with him, given your shameless efforts seducing him to your will. He stays quiet for far too long, and the air is starting to get thicker, your ability to breathe is becoming too difficult.

Just when you start to think you’re in control of the situation, he presses into you and your forced to take a step back to keep yourself from falling backwards. His broad chest encompasses you once again, demonstrating that any control you had was just him manipulating you into thinking that.  
“No.” He commands, the syllable ripping through the modulator, and just like that, the argument ends. Not bothering to wait for your rebuttal, he saunters passed you, and disappears through the door of the hangar.

You want to scream; you want to rip your hair out like an immature kid who didn’t get what they wanted, but you stand there dumbfounded. _What happened?_ Were you so naïve as to think that you had any kind of control over the situation? Was he just letting you believe that you have any chance in deciding what the outcome of the argument would be?

Hearing another door swoosh open, your head turns towards the sound to see Peli exiting her office and heading in direction of the ship. Her reaction to seeing you still here is a mix of disappointment and annoyance. You see her roll her eyes and curse under her breath, and even though you can’t make out what she said, you know it wasn’t anything kind.

She saunters over to Crest to begin any last-minute tweaks that it might need, her back facing you. Ideally, today would be the day to squash your quarrel with her, since you’re both stuck with each other for the rest of the day, and having to tip-toe around each other just because neither of you refuse to be the first to bring up what happened all those years ago just seems juvenile.

Taking a deep, almost lung burning breath in an effort to release all the anger concerning Mando, you push down any pride you have and make a beeline towards Peli. You know she can hear your feet hitting the ground as you approach her, and you observe her posture change—she tries to disappear further into the Crest, pretending to be so busy that she could completely ignore you, but you’re too determined to squash your issues to give up now.

“Can I help with anything?” You ask just as get closer to her. Peli’s back stays glued to you, she doesn’t even bother looking in your direction before answering. “No.”

Biting down on your jaw and fighting the urge to roll your own eyes, your lips press into a thin line before prodding her again. “Peli, I don’t want any trouble. I can helpful.”

This seems to get her attention because her back stiffens, head turning slightly in your direction before her words come out like venom. “Even if I wanted help, the last person I’d ask it from is _you_.”

Her words cause you to recoil, only now realizing just how much resentment and bitterness for you lies deep inside her. The guilt that follows causes your fingers to twitch at your sides, chew the inside of your cheek and stand there awkwardly, not wanting to walk away but also not having anything to ease the anxiety in the air. The only thing you can think of is to try to make conversation about the ship. Taking a few steps back and leaning your shoulder against the side of the Crest, you begin to speak gently, “When Mando and I were on Sorgan, I had noticed the beginning’s a fuel leak, but I wasn’t able to fix it since I didn’t have any handy equipment on me.”

An obnoxious sneer is released from Peli as she begins to march around the Crest, checking off her to-do list on the datapad in her hands. “I don’t see how you would have been able to do that even if you did have the proper tools.”

“I’m a very capable mechanic, Peli.” You snap back, trailing behind her. Growing up surrounded by ships has given you an extensive knowledge into how a ship runs—the intricate mechanics involved in keeping a ship in good condition. Therefore, you knew what you were talking about. If anyone could go toe-to-toe with you when it came to repairing _anything_ , it was Peli. 

Finally pulling her eyes away from the tablet in her hands to look at you, she mumbles, “Don’t you mean a _smuggler_?” through gritted teeth, practically spitting the words at you.

Your weight shifts to one side, a hand placed firmly on your hip and clamping hard on your jaw to keep yourself from impulsively saying something you might regret later, you take your time trying to find the right words to respond with. “Look, you’re stuck with me all day, because _somebody_ didn’t want to draw more attention to themselves, so we’re going to have to learn to deal with each other just for today. I know I can be civil, but can you?”

Peli throws her arms up, shrugging theatrically before going back to take notes on her datapad. “Just as long as you stay out of my way, I got no problems.”

Realizing there may never be a time to squash your quarrels with her, you retreat inside the Crest for some time alone. Climbing up the ladder to the cockpit, you settle down in one of the passenger chairs. The Child fusses in his pram, and sleepy eyes peer up at you, that gentle, childlike expression seems to make all your troubles disappear in an instant. Your head cocks to the side, admiring and gazing upon this little green creature.

His tiny arms reach out for you and you lean over to pick him up in your arms. He sits on your lap, a petite hand stretching out to touch your face. Your neck leans forward, closing the space between you and the Child. Three fingers caress your cheek, and just as that happens, a rush of emotions overwhelm you. It’s a familiar feeling—like when you reunite with an old friend after years of going your separate ways. All those years apart means nothing because now you’ve found each other. That kind of love—a rare kind of connection, usually found only in soulmates or family. You’ve only ever experienced it as familial—your parents were your soulmates. They meant everything you, and from this little baby in your lap, you feel it in him too. His giant eyes look into you, as if he’s letting you in on a secret—one he’s never felt before and is unable to express to others. It hits the same spot inside of you. That yearning for familial love and acceptance—devoid of judgement, just pure, kind adoration that’s been buried deep inside of you. Flashes of the Mandalorian flood into your mind, coming in quick bursts that almost make your head spin.

A large mammal with a giant horn on its snout. A mudhorn.

A female brunette.

_She’s my friend! Cara is my friend_!

A room engulfed in flames.

_Let me have a warrior’s death…This is the way._

Sadness, love, a consciousness to protect—it’s all consuming. This is a bond between father and child, you now realize. The intensity in which the Child cares for Mando, it’s not only remarkable but heartwarming. In five years, you haven’t even come close to the kind of bond they clearly share, and it’s something you didn’t know you ached for. Actually, you probably knew on some level you craved this kind of undying love but were forced to reject and push down deep inside you.

The touch on your cheek suddenly disappears, and the Child falls backwards, just in time for you to catch his back with your other hand to keep him from falling out of your lap. Whatever he’s just shown you had taken all the force he had in his little body, because his eyes flutter shut, and almost instantly falling asleep in your arms. You don’t know how to show him that you now _understand_ their relationship, but you wonder if on some level, he already knows. There’s clearly something that binds you and him together, something for whatever reason you’re unable to explain, but you somewhat subconsciously know this is the first time the Child has allowed anyone to know this. Gently placing him in his crib and shutting the pram, you slouch back in your seat and wonder if the Mandalorian knows just how much he means to this little gremlin.

_Grogu_.

* * *

Somehow you’ve fallen asleep. You don’t remember even closing your eyes but when they bat open, dusk has fallen on Mos Eisley. Looking over to your left haphazardly, the lack of a green baby in the pram shoots panic up and down your spine, causing you to jump to your feet immediately. Your eyesight is still hazy, but your feet are working on autopilot, searching frantically for him in the cockpit. When you see no obvious sign of him, you dash for the ladder. Taking the rungs two at a time, you all but fly down to the hull still hyped up on adrenaline, praying to the Maker that you did not lose Mando’s kid.

Once you reach the hull of the ship, you hear Peli’s voice and a series of noises from her pit droids. Descending down the side ramp, you see them gathered around a table, playing some kind of gambling game; probably sabacc. The little one is perched up on a seat at the table, ogling what the others are doing but not actually taking part in the festivities. Panic begins to subside, and a deep sigh of relief comes from you, your hand clutching your chest.

Noticing your presence, the Child coos and Peli looks up at you for a second before turning her attention back to the game in front of her. “I heard the kid fussing and when I came to check on him, you were asleep so I figured I’d take him so he doesn’t wake you up.”

“Oh, well thank you,” You didn’t know Peli was capable of being _that_ kind, and it warms you to see such a different side to her.

Continuing to stand there awkwardly for a few seconds trying to decide what you should do next, your jaw stiffens, feeling like you’re intruding on their game. Pivoting slowly, you’re about to make for the ship again when Peli calls you over. “You still good at the game?”

Clearing your throat, you take a step towards her before responding, hands twiddling in front of you. “Uh, yeah I used to play all the time with my crew.”

She lets out a chuff of air, no doubt at the fact you said ‘crew’ as if to make fun of you, but you choose to ignore her obvious jest.

“Take a seat,” She says and then points to a chair off to the side of the hangar. You walk over to fetch it and lug it over to the table, choosing to sit down next to the Child. He peers up at you briefly before turning his big black eyes down to the game in front of you both.

“You’ll come in on the next round,” She informs you.

“Okay.”

**\--**

“So,” Peli begins as she observes the cards in her hand. “How did you end up with Mando?”

Your hand rubs the nape of your neck absentmindedly, the other holding the cards in your hand. Your eyes are glued to the cards, but your mind focuses on something entirely different. “He had my tracking fob.”

“And he didn’t turn you in?” She says in surprise.

“Well he did, but turns out it was actually the Empire who had the hit on me so…” You answer.

“Why didn’t he just let the Imps have at you?” Curiosity is at the forefront of her voice, but there’s a hint of a sneer in the way she asks you—like she’s shocked he chose not to let the Empire do whatever they wanted to do to you.

“I don’t know,” You answer honestly, unsure of the reason yourself. He’s never actually told you why he didn’t just let the Imps take you, and you’ve been meaning to ask. It just never seemed like there was a _right_ time to bring it up.

“Hmmm,” Peli hums.

It really was something that you wanted to know. Foolishly, you could say it was because you had developed a mutual respect for each other since your capture, but realistically, it probably came down to the fact that he hated the Empire, and didn’t want them to get what they wanted. If the latter were true, it would be hard to disguise the disappointment that would so clearly be plastered on your face whenever he’d choose to tell you. That’s part of the reason why you haven’t asked him yet. Often times, not knowing the truth has saved you from a lot of pain. This was just another one of those times. Never mind the fact that you also don’t know why you two almost fucked in an alley a couple nights ago. Just add that to the list of truths you didn’t want to know.

“Hey,” Peli’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. “It’s your turn. You drawing, staying or swapping?”

Looking down at the cards in your hand and mentally adding them all up, you stand at 22. That’s almost a guaranteed win unless someone else at the table has a better hand than you do—which you doubt. It’s harder to tell what a droid’s hand might be given the fact that they…don’t _have_ the ability to express anything facially and therefore have the best poker face in the galaxy, but you’ve been keeping count of the cards left in the deck, and you’re almost positive that you have the best hand at the table. Even Peli is starting to look nervous—her leg bounces off the ground, and you catch her furrowing her eyebrows. You have this win in the bag.

“All right, we ready to call it?” Peli asks the table. Her three droids mumble incoherently, and her eyes shift to you for a second to hear your answer. Your head dips forward in accordance and Peli offers a slight nod in approval. “Okay, you womp rats. Let’s do this.”

The droid immediately to her right shows his hand—19. Perfect, you’re one step closer to victory.

“Ha, close but not close enough!” Peli exclaims.

The next pit droid shows their hand—21. Okay, that’s a little too close to your number but it’s not good enough to beat you. It’s getting harder and harder to hide the shit-eating grin that’s slowly sneaking up on your face. Forcing your lips into a thin line, your body threatens to jump up and down in celebration.

The droid to your left shows their cards and once again, its hand isn’t as good as yours. They stand at -20 and now you’re all but shooting out of your seat with excitement.

Peli catches your attention by saying your name. You crane your neck to face her. “Your turn, smuggler.”

You can’t help but roll her eyes at her. It’s not that she’s wrong, but surely she could have thought of something more clever than that. Mouth curling up in a toothy smile, you—almost arrogantly, throw your cards on the table. “BOOM! 22, read ‘em and weep suckers!” The droids beep disappointedly, their little fists slamming down on the table, causing the cards and the miscellaneous pool in the middle to tumble around.

“Take it easy there, _Spice-y_ …” Peli warns, her eyebrows dancing as she looks at you with her own shit-eating smile. Your face contorts in confusion as she slowly places her cards face up on the table.

“SON OF A BITCH!” You yell when you see her score.

Kriffing -23.

“‘Read ‘em and weep suckers’,” She mocks, letting out an obnoxiously loud laugh and wrapping her arms around the rewards in the middle. To be fair, it was all her parts anyway and you have no credits, so you didn’t actually _lose_ anything—except your pride. The kid to your right laughs, his little arms waving up in down, totally unable to control his joy.

“How did—?”

“Kid, I’ve been playing this since before you were born. You don’t think I have some kind of strategy?”

“This is supposed to be a game based on _luck_ ,” Emphasizing the word luck because how in the Maker did she manage to win? You counted every card; you were so sure that you had this game in the bag.

“Guess I’m just lucky then.”

Rolling your eyes into the next galaxy and using your fists to push them off your knees to rise to your feet, you only notice then how dark it’s gotten since you woke up from your nap in the cockpit. Mando should be back by now. Eyes drifting off to the door of the hangar, he should be back any second, right? That sudden realization makes you cringe—you shouldn’t be ‘hoping’ for anything from him. You’re just…friends? Acquaintances? Making a mental note to add that to the list of things you’ll probably never know, you sigh to yourself.

“I’m gonna head out for a bit. The kid’s fine with you, right?” You ask Peli, keeping your eyes peeled to the hangar door.

“Didn’t Mando tell you to stay here?”

This time your neck cranes towards her direction, raising an eyebrow at her. “When have I ever done what someone’s told me to do?” You begin to say as your feet make for the door.

A rush of exhilaration and thrill hit you once the door closes behind you. _Technically_ , you’re not doing anything wrong. Mando said you couldn’t go _with_ him—he said nothing about you going off on your own, and besides the city is almost in complete darkness by now so the chances of anyone even paying any attention to you is pretty low. Even more so, you know this place like the back of your hand, and in the event that someone _does_ identify you, it would be all too easy to zigzag your way through the streets and find your way back to the hangar without anything catching up to you. And since it’s your last night here, why shouldn’t you take one last walk around the town? After all, this was your home for many, many years so why wouldn’t you want to take one last nostalgic walk through your past? Especially if you’re trying to have the closure you didn’t allow yourself to have the last time you left Tatooine.

Not having a specific destination in mind, you let your feet guide you aimlessly through the city. Flashes of your youth appear in your mind, and you can see your younger self walking through these exact streets; sometimes with your parents, sometimes with Tye, sometimes just by yourself. As you watch yourself navigate through the roads, laughing and smiling with loved ones, you’re reminded of all the pain that’s happened to you since. Everyone you’ve ever loved is gone—dead or presumed dead. Every single person who’s brought happiness in your life, anyone who’s ever cared for you…gone.

It was right at this moment that you realize, you never had the time to mourn Tye’s death. There wasn’t time for you to process it—to accept it and move on. Instead, you had just forgotten all about it because there were too many other things to focus on, but now as you stroll through the city, the same city you and him would spend 90% of your time in, the realization that he’s gone pierces through you like dozens of vibroblades stabbing you in every corner of your body. An ache you didn’t know was stirring up inside you comes right to the surface, feeling empty and fucking alone once again.

He _was_ your best friend.

He was the only family you had left. Tye was flawed, there’s no denying that, but he was with you right until the very last second. He tried to save your life—more times than you can count. Tye died trying to save your life and this is how you repay him? By fantasizing about the man who basically killed him? It shouldn’t be like this; you shouldn’t be with Mando. He took away the only family you had, and you’re out here wondering how mad he’ll be when he finds out you left the hangar when he told you to stay put?

But… Mando saved your life. He could have let the Imps carry you off but, he didn’t. He came back to rescue you. He told you to stay in the hangar for your own safety. Stars, he’s even out looking for some kind of lead as to why the Empire wants you.

It’s just too much. There are too many things you don’t know, too many conflicting emotions inside you, you’re unable to sift through them all and come to a logical conclusion. As you got older, it became easy to compartmentalize your feelings—locking some away and never allowing yourself the luxury of experiencing those again and for a while, it worked, but now everything’s changed. A Mandalorian came rushing into your life and has changed everything about the way you’ve been living. Nothing about you is the same anymore. The control you had is no longer there, slipping through your fingers like when rain slithers off leaves. Each drop of stability, and restriction is slipping out of your reach and there’s absolutely nothing you can do to stop it.

You’re not sure when you started heading for the cantina, but you come to your senses just as your figure slides through the door. At the top of the stairs, the cantina is overwhelmed with people from all walks of life. Now that nightfall has stumbled on the city, all cantinas will look like this one—visitors, and locals alike all crammed together, dancing, drinking and gambling. Deciding against your better judgement to find a quiet place to sit alone and drink your thoughts away, you opt to sit at the bar. To make matters even more daring, you sit at the bar with your back to the entrance of the cantina. While others might not even think twice to do that, to you it’s stirring and terrifying all at the same time.

“What can I get ya?” The droid asks, his voice box distorting from how loud he actually has to speak in order for you to hear him.

“Just give me strongest thing you got,” You shout back, making a mental note to find a way to pay them back later.

“Rough day?” A gruff voice prompts.

Straining your neck to your right, a rather good-looking man back stares back at you, elbows resting on the counter. The cantina might be dimly lit, but you can make out some of his features. Floppy, black hair tickles the tops of his eyebrows, making his blue eyes stand out against the dark contrast. A tidy beard cascades across his cheeks and jawline, and for the first time in a while, you see a smile that doesn’t immediately trigger your fight or flight response.

“Uh, yeah,” You reply as the bartender hands you a cup full of a deep red liquid. Not taking a second to think about it, you grab the cup and throw the drink back, the alcohol hitting your tastebuds makes your body shiver involuntarily, but as it makes its way down your throat, the liquid warms your insides, relaxing the tautness in your shoulders. You motion to the bartender for another drink and the kind stranger giggles.

“Must have been a hell of a rough day,”

“Any day on Tatooine is a rough day.” You jest as the droid refills your cup.

“I wouldn’t know. It’s my first time here.”

You nearly choke on your drink, completely taken aback by the statement. “Why the hell are you here, then?”

The man’s head cocks to one side, and eyebrow raising in confusion, but that smile is still plastered on his face. He really does have a kind smile.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be imposing.” You correct, worried you might have offended him in some way.

“Not at all,” He shrugs. “I had to make a delivery here. I’m heading out at first light.”

“Oh?”

“What about you? What brings you here?”

Despite the alcohol lowering your defenses, you always know to keep your answers short and vague, so as to not draw attention to yourself. “Oh I’m just passing through.”

The brunette lets out a loud laugh, an infectious one that makes you laugh in return. He shakes his head, causing his disheveled hair to brush against his brow bone. The longer you look at him, the more you can feel arousal stirring up in your stomach. He _really_ is attractive, in an easy, non-intimidating way.

_Stars, this isn’t why you wanted to go out._

“How vague of you,” He quips.

“Gotta keep them on their toes, right?”

“ _That_ I have to agree with.”

Taking the cup in your hand and holding it up in front of you, he proposes a toast. “To keeping them on their toes **”.** The stranger holds up his own cup and knocks it against yours, albeit a little too aggressively because some of the liquid in your cup flies out of the mug and spills onto your tunic.

“Fuck, Maker I’m so sorry—” He starts to say but your hand comes up to stop him.

“It’s fine,” You assure him. “It’s not my finest shirt anyway.”

“At least let me pay for your drinks. It’s the least I can do since I may have completely ruined your shirt.”

Nodding your head, he calls the droid over and gestures for two more drinks.

* * *

Three drinks later, and the alcohol is definitely getting to you, now. More so than it did back on Sorgan, given that you’ve had just a fraction of whatever this red stuff is compared to an entire bottle of spotchka. Whatever this droid gave you was some powerful stuff. You’re not completely inebriated, but you’re definitely more relaxed than you were before, the warmth of the alcohol travelling through your system and making you a lot more comfortable and laid-back. To make matter worse, the alcohol has unfortunately made this strange man a lot more attractive and the thought of him touching you is making your cunt ache.

“Look, maybe I’m misreading things, but would you want to head back to my ship?”

It’s a bad idea—like, a _really_ bad idea. You’ve known this man for maybe half an hour and you’re definitely not in the right state of mind to be accepting his offer. Actually, the fact that you’re drunk isn’t the problem. The real problem is that you’re being hunted by the fucking Empire and you have no idea if this guy is trying to find a way to lure you to his ship or if he really is just a kind traveler. Regardless, you shouldn’t say yes.

You really fucking shouldn’t.

Because you haven’t said anything, he begins to backtrack. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. I take it back.”

Before your brain can control the words spewing out of your mouth, your ears hear you say, “No, you didn’t offend me at all.” Placing a hand over his on the counter and squeezing it in reassurance, the touch sends sparks up your arm and sends it straight to the apex of your thighs. You’re definitely in the wrong state of mind right now, but you’ve gone too far to pull back now and honestly, if Mando won’t fuck you, you’ll just have to find someone else who will. “Lead the way.”

Swallowing the rest of your drink in one big _guuuulp_ , your buddy of the night throws some credits down on the counter and thanks the bartender for the drinks and all but jumps to his feet. He links his hand with yours and begins escorting you out of the cantina.

The cool air feels amazing against your red-hot cheeks, your heart thumping in your chest full of danger, excitement, and arousal. This reminds you of your smuggling days. After a job, still feeling the aftershocks of your dicey run, you’d find someone worth your while and let them fuck you senseless in your ship. It makes you feel like _you_ again. This is what you do—this is the routine you’ve created for yourself. This is familiar.

Giggling like a bunch of teenagers, neither of you are able to hide your eagerness. Not even after a couple blocks walk away from the cantina, he’s pushing you against the nearest wall of a quiet street, trapping you with his body. His breath reeks of alcohol, but in that sweet way that’s even more intoxicating. Your lips part, eyes staring at his own plush lips just a few inches away from you. This wouldn’t be possible with Mando. You could never look at his face; look at his lips and crush them with yours, or feel his tongue brush against yours. No, this will have to do.

A gentle hand comes up and holds your chin in place. He’s not as tall as Mando either, you barely have to strain your neck to look up at him, but this will have to do. Bringing his face close to yours, you think he’s about to kiss you, but his lips pass yours and comes right to your ear.

“You’re so beautiful,” He whispers, his hot breath touching your even hotter skin. His voice sends shivers down your spine—not the way Mando’s voice does but this will have to do.

Your hands come flying up to grab fistfuls of his hair, pulling him back just so you’re inches away from each other’s face again. It would barely take any effort to close the gap and feel his lips against yours. Closing your eyes, you wait for him to make the first move. Despite you two knowing absolutely nothing about the other, he seems to catch on to your body language quickly, because the next thing you know, he’s crushing his lips on yours.

It’s not elegant or gentle, it’s needy and desperate. His teeth clash against yours, causing you both to pull away momentarily to chuckle before dipping back to each other’s mouths—more elegantly this time.

His mouth tastes like alcohol, it fills your nostrils and tastebuds with such aggression, it’s almost attacking them. Pressing his body further into yours, you could feel the outline of his hard cock brushing your thigh, forcing out a moan through your lips. In return, he forces his tongue through your open mouth, flicking your bottom lip and meeting yours. The hand on your cheek disappears, then both of them travel down your neck, grabbing your breasts and giving them a gentle squeeze before trailing down your abdomen and settling on your waist, wrapping them around you tightly in an effort to pull you closer to him.

Your mind tries to focus on this moment, on the man touching and kissing you, but you’re unable to shake the feeling you’re being watched. Pulling away from him, your back goes rigid at the sight of the Mandalorian just a few feet away from you two. The stranger from the cantina turns his head and nearly jumps back at the sight.

“ _What_ are you doing?” The Mandalorian growls, his vocoder scratching dangerously low, making your whole body shiver in fear.

“Uh—I—uh—we were—uh—” You manage to choke out, entire physique trembling from head to toe.

His helmet turns to face the stranger you were just making out with and he all but _snarls_ when addressing him. “I suggest you leave.”

Turning to you, his eyes wide shot in absolutely terror, you can assume this is the first time he’s ever seen a Mandalorian, let alone a seething Mandalorian. “Are y-you gon-n-na be okay?” He stutters.

“She’ll be fine.” Mando answers for you.

Unable to get rid of the lump in your throat, you offer him a nod and within seconds, the brunette is gone. You’re left alone with Mando, in a horribly lit street in Mos Eisley—just like you were a couple days ago.

“I told you to stay at the hangar.” He spits out from what you assume is gritted teeth. The helmet gives no insight as to what Mando’s expression could be but somehow the visor _burning_ into you right now is the most frightening and the most arousing thing you can imagine.

“I just wanted some fresh air.”

“The hangar is an open space. It’s full of fresh air.” 

Noticing his hands clenched into fists at his sides and his back as stiff as a board, your little stunt has infuriated him more than you thought it would, and for some sick reason, that turns you on even more.

“Let’s go. _Now._ ” He orders, body whipping around so fast his cape makes a loud _whoosh_ noise as it whisks behind him.

Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the mental exhaustion from the day, but you’re pretty fucking tired of being bossed around by him. Despite being somewhat intoxicated and feeling your body sway, you straighten out your shoulders, cross your arms against your chest and muster as much strength as you can and say, “No.”

Mando stops in his tracks, the tip of his helmet turning ever so slowly until his head can’t turn any more. “What did you say?”

“I said no.”

Before you can fully understand what’s happening, Mando rushes towards you. At first you want to recoil from his sudden movement, but you plant yourself further into the ground, continuing to hold yourself in your stance.

“You don’t scare me.” Whether or not you’re trying to convince him or yourself that, it’s unclear, but the fact that Mando doesn’t pull away indicates that he clearly doesn’t believe you.

“I don’t?” He asks coyly as he cocks his head to the side, knowing damn well what he’s doing.

Moving into your body at a dangerously slow rate, your body mimics his as you feel yourself gradually leaning back. You’re losing balance, and if you don’t find some way to steady yourself, you’ll end up falling back on your bum. Thinking quickly, your left leg flies behind you, enabling you to get your footing in the sand and keep from falling backwards.

“Why does your body language tell me otherwise?” He’s downright _taunting_ you right now. Mando gets off seeing you struggle under his authority.

“Because you’re pushing yourself into me!” You shriek.

“I don’t see you fighting back.”

It’s at this moment you realize, no matter how many men you meet in cantinas, no matter how many of them you spend the night with or even a moment with, no matter how drunk you get yourself in order to _enjoy_ these one night stands, none of that will ever matter because it’ll never compare to how Mando makes you feel. No one in this kriffing galaxy will ever get your heart racing and your blood pounding like he does. No one will be able to drive you _fucking_ crazy the way he does.

The stranger at the bar might have been able to get you wet and aching to be touched—probably not even wanting to be touched _by_ him though. However, it’s nothing compared to the burning pit of desire that’s pooling inside you in Mando’s presence. He’s only touched you once but it wasn’t enough. Nothing will ever be enough. You want him, you fucking need him more than you would ever admit.

From the way you see it, you have two options to choose from. You can either yield to Mando’s dominance and follow him back to the Crest, feeling guilty and sorry for yourself or you can challenge him back, establish your own independence and see how far you can defy him. Given that you can be a pretty big fucking brat, you opt for the latter.

Pushing yourself forward while using your left leg and lowering your arms to your sides for extra balance, your breasts graze against his beskar cuirass while your legs shift to stand shoulder-width apart. Having to crane your neck upwards to look straight into the T of his visor, it’s somewhat uncomfortable but you’re trying to prove a point right now, so you’ll deal with the stress on your neck until the point’s been made clear.

Your chest is heaving, heartrate unbelievable fast as you stand so fucking close to each other, neither of you wanting to break the almost suffocating suspense by speaking. No, right now you’re both locked in a fight for dominance, wondering who will be the one to either pull away or close the tiny gap between your bodies. It might be the alcohol, but you’re feeling rather audacious, and you _want_ to continue pushing him, push him passed his limits until he becomes the feral animal you know is clawing inside of him. The adrenaline rush you had kissing that kind stranger from the bar is fucking nothing compared to this. This is making your veins ignite with fire, burning through your entire core and not even the breeze can cut the heat radiating off your skin.

“ _Stop_ ,” Mando says breathlessly, sounding more like a plea than an order.

“I don’t see you fighting back,” You repeat, drawling out every word so he knows you’re mocking him. The tables have flipped, you’re the one holding the power and it’s fucking invigorating. Having a Mandalorian practically _beg_ you is sending sparks of arousal right to your throbbing cunt, resisting the urge to rub your thighs together to relieve some of the pain building up in the apex of your legs.

“You wouldn’t want to see me fight back.” _Fuck, this is getting too much._

The baritone of his voice scratches low in the vocoder, sending shocks straight to your belly, while also suggesting he’s pulling back from fully allowing himself to do whatever his body hungers for. But you’re not, in fact you’re just getting started because now you _know_ you’re affecting him, and the liquor in your bloodstream is making you a lot bolder than you normally would be.

“I don’t think you _could_ fight back.” Obviously a lie, you know damn well he can fight back but you’re incessant need to toy with him, to continue to mock him until he absolutely loses his fucking mind is too inviting, you can’t stop yourself.

“ _Maker_ , I said stop.” Mando growls, drawing closer towards you to the point you’re leaning back again, invading your space so deliciously. Your sense of smell is engulfed with the aroma of metal and his musk, you’re practically drunk on him alone. Knowing you’ll need to choose your next words wisely; you opt for the ones you know will force him over the edge. Swallowing the gigantic lump in your throat, your gaze deepening into the eye slit of his visor, you speak low and as cunning as you can giving the current circumstance.

“ _Make_ me.”

In a swift movement, Mando’s gloved hands come up and grip your biceps, not hard enough to hurt but definitely strong enough for you to understand who’s actually in charge. He holds you tightly as he all but pushes you against the closest wall, the duracrete digging into your shoulder blades. Pressing into you, the beskar holding you in place, you feel the bulge in his pants grinding against your lower stomach. Your pussy is disgustingly wet, panties drenched as they stick to you.

Head pushed against the wall behind you, it’s difficult to properly look into the black slit of his helmet, but you try your hardest to maintain eye contact with him, to show him you’re not backing down without a proper fight…or whatever else might occur. His own chest is heaving, armour flush against your torso, locking you in this intimate moment. Wanting to touch him, one of your hands draws up from your side slowly, not entirely sure where exactly to place it. Flicking your tongue along your lower lip, and using the liquid courage that’s a mix of liquor and arousal, you push your palm between your bodies and grab hold of the growing erection in his pants. The noise that Mando makes is guttural, one of his hands letting go of your bicep to punch into the wall behind you.

“ _Fuck,_ ” He moans, the helmet coming passed your head to press into the duracrete structure. The very end of the helmet scratches the crook of your neck, and you lean into it, feeling the beskar bring coolness to your hot cheek. Your hand continues to grope him, gently rubbing against his pants causing friction and feeling his cock twitch in your palm.

“We h-have to get back to t-t-the ship,” Mando pleads, still rough and low as he seems to be getting angrier with himself because he’s unable to pull away, and his body moves closer into yours, pushing you hard against the rough surface behind you while his beskar is flush on your chest, making it hard to breathe and difficult for you to continue teasing him. Quick, short breaths are coming consistently through the vocoder, your pussy gushing hearing his sweet groans.

Your right hand fumbles its way to his belt, both hands now frantically trying to undo the zipper of his pants. The helmet dips down, resting it on your shoulder as he watches one of your hands disappear into his trousers, and play with the waistband, toying with him. The scorching heat between your thighs is becoming too much, your cunt throbbing uncontrollably, begging to alleviate some of the tension but right now, this is about Mando. This is _for_ Mando.

When you feel confident enough that he’s fully under your control, your hand pushes through the waistband and cups his erection. Mando curses under his breath, grinding himself against your hold in a feeble attempt to please himself. Maker, his cock is _big_ —you don’t even have to look at it to feel it’s the biggest one you’ve ever felt. If you thought you were turned on before, this new information sends ripples through your entire body, your mouth watering, desperately wanting to taste him. With the little room you have to move, you begin lowering yourself down to the ground, and drop to your knees. The sand cuts into your pants, it’s somewhat uncomfortable, but you push through the discomfort because you’re about to put his cock in your mouth and drive him fucking crazy.

The street is barely lit, which unfortunately means you can barely see what’s in front of you, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing right now matters other than making him feel as good as he made you feel a couple nights ago. You want to show him what he’s been missing, what he’s been denying himself. Lowering his trousers just enough to spring his cock free, it bounces just inches from your lips. Heat continuously building in your belly, you adjust your hand to hold him at the base, and admire him. Your head bobs forward, tongue coming out to lick the precome forming at the tip of his length. A big hand comes down firmly on your shoulder, steadying himself as he continues to curse into the helmet.

“F-fuck, that feels good.”

Letting out a deep breath through your nostrils to calm your nerves and swallowing the lump in your throat, your jaw slacks as much as it can and you take him in your mouth, surrounding him with your warmth. Mando nearly convulses on the spot, feeling his hips buck, pushing more of himself into your mouth. _Stars_ , you’ve never had a dick this big in your mouth and you’re worried you might not be able to take all of him, but you push through it, inching himself more and more passed your lips until you feel him reach the back of your throat. Your body shakes, fighting your gag reflex as he sits there on your tongue, hands bracing themselves on his hips, so you have more control.

“Look at you, taking my whole cock in your mouth. S-such a _good girl_.”

Mando’s praises practically make you swoon, and once you feel relaxed enough, you ease him out of your mouth and begin bobbing your head up and down the length of his girth, obscene and filthy sounds echoing through the street. You develop a rhythm, bobbing your neck down his cock a few times and then taking him as far as he’ll go, now no longer worried about gagging as you basically fucking _choke_ on him. Tears are forming in the corners of your eyes, but you don’t stop, you can’t fucking stop because the whimpers coming from Mando are enough to push you over the edge. He grits out admirations like a prayer, the grip on your shoulder so tight it almost hurts, but you’re too entranced at the moment to give a shit about the bruise that’s no doubt forming on your skin.

His cock continues to slide in and out between your lips, feeling every curve, every vein, every fucking inch of him down to the pubic hair that tickles your nose when he rests fully inside your mouth. The tension in your pussy is excruciating, needing some kind of friction to alleviate some of the pressure, so one of the hands on his hips disappear and flies into your own pants, passed your undies, starting to rub tight circles around your clit. The immediate touch down your pants causes you to moan, sending vibrations along the Mandalorian’s length between your lips.

“ _Stars,_ you’re so good at this. How do you make it feel so _fucking_ good?” He whispers breathlessly, now fully fucking himself into your mouth. Tears stream down your face at a consistent rate, but everything feels too good to stop. It’s overstimulating, it’s overwhelming but in the best fucking way possible. You on your knees, while Mando grinds his hips more aggressively into you. Feeling your own orgasm slowly building, you wrap your lips around Mando tighter, hallowing your cheeks as you draw him in at a quicker pace.

“Shit, you’re g-gonna ma-ake me c-c-ome,”

Rather than say something, you bob your head even faster, spit dribbling down your lips as you continue to take his cock deep in your mouth, swallowing a mixture of saliva and precome and groaning loudly. Mando recites a series of curses and praises as you feel his body tensing while he gets closer to his own orgasm. The fingers on your clit become erratic, no longer having the same rhythm because you’re too focused on getting Mando to come in your mouth to focus on pleasuring yourself properly.

“Oh—shit, fuck, _fuck_ yes, j-just like t-that. You want me to c-c-come in your pr-r-retty little mouth?” He taunts, chest heaving unlike you’ve ever seen before. The power trip you’re on right now is amazing, and Maker you want him to see you as he comes. Through hooded lids, you peer up at him, the faint shape of his helmet beaming off the moons of Tatooine. You don’t see his eyes but it doesn’t matter, you know he’s looking down at you in awe. It’s a struggle to continue to please him while trying to maintain eye contact with him but you refuse to peel your eyes away from the visor. You want him to see you with your mouth full of his come, you want him to see you suck every bit of his seed out of him, and watch you swallow it like a champ.

Mando’s cock twitches in your mouth and stiffens for a moment, and then he’s coming, really fucking hard and for a second you wonder if you’ll even be able to swallow all of it. As he comes, you hallow your cheeks even more, sucking every last drop of his seed and swallowing it, and then your own orgasm creeps up on you and then smashes into you. It fucking rips you apart from the inside out, white-hot pleasure exploding from every nerve ending, and you cry out with his cock still in your mouth, causing some of his come to trickle down from the corners of your lips.

Once he’s finally done coming, his hand leaves your shoulder to tuck himself back in his pants before hooking both hands under your shoulders to lift you up to eye level. Your breathing is erratic, and your knees burn from the friction of the sand rubbing against the material of your pants. Head lulling back to lean along the wall behind you, your eyes flutter open, completely exhausted. Using one of his fingers, Mando wipes the come dripping down your lips and before he can do anything else, using the very limited strength you have, your hand clasps down on his wrist, taking it into your mouth and sucking whatever seed is on his finger, tasting him and leather in your mouth.

“ _Stars_ …” Mando remarks in absolute admiration. The corners of your lips curl into a sheepish smile, the weight of the fatigue fully taking you over. Your head dips in front of you, and rests on Mando’s chest, the instant cooling relief of beskar on your forehead.

“We have to get back to the ship.” He repeats, his baritone gentle but still low and raspy.

“Mmm…” You mumble back, unable to find the words.

“You’ll have to walk back, is that okay? The Crest isn’t far away.”

Head lifting up enough to nod, Mando takes a step back so you can get your bearings. The alcohol and the post-orgasm high make you woozy, but you force yourself to be somewhat conscious, blinking rapidly and rolling your shoulders back in an effort to show him you’ll be all right enough to head back to the hangar. “Lead the way, _sir._ ”

A drawn-out breath emits from the helmet, and he tilts his head to the side like he wants to push you up against the wall once again but ultimately decides not to and turns on his heel to make way for the ship. Your feet are working slower than your brain, because it takes a couple of seconds for them to register that you want to walk. At first they buckle, probably because you’ve been on your knees for the last however many minutes, but eventually you’re able to trail behind him wearily as you both walk in silence to the hangar. Unlike you, there’s absolutely no hint that Mando just got his dick sucked in public. You on the other hand, are slouching when you walk, feeling the uncomfortable stickiness between your legs from your orgasm becoming more and more awful the longer you move.

When the hangar door comes into view, there’simmediate relief that swoons you. You want to rest, want to relax as there’s a slight headache now prodding at you—definitely a result from the night’s events. Peli sits around a makeshift fire, her droids also gathered around, no green baby in sight.

“Ah he found you!” She exclaims, gesticulating in your direction before rising to her feet to join you and Mando. “The little one’s inside the ship, by the way.”

“Thank you, Peli.”

“Anytime, Mando. You know I like having you and the kid around.” She admits, a genuine smile appearing on her face. She looks over at you and it’s impossible to hide the shock smeared on her expression.

“ _Kriff_ , what the hell happened to you?”

“Sorry?” You ask, brows pulling tightly together.

“You look like hell, that’s what.” She says, quite unfiltered.

Your eyes peer down at the ground, fingers interlacing together, not being able to come up with a good, fake reason as to why you look like a mess. Her gaze jumps between you and Mando, and you think she’s mentally putting the image together in her brain before Mando speaks.

“We should get going. Don’t want to stay longer than we need to.”

This snaps Peli out of her thoughts, nodding as she agrees with the Mandalorian.

“Sure thing. Uh, travel safe you three.”

Mando’s helmet dips forward, before heading up the side ramp of the ship. You stand there for a few more seconds, wanting to give Peli a proper good-bye, but not knowing how to go about that. Your arm comes up behind you to rub the back of your neck, jaw slacking and opening your mouth to say something—to say what, you’re still unsure of.

“Well, I have to admit, it was nice seeing you again kid.” She says sincerely, and for the seconds time today, you see a glimpse of warmth and tenderness in her you’ve never seen before. She isn’t this cold-hearted, confrontational woman you had conjured up in your mind. She’s gentle in her own way. Kind. Sympathetic. It warms you and also saddens you. This is a side of her you could have seen all these years ago, had you allowed yourself and her the opportunity. Instead, you had this pre-conceived idea of who she was, and didn’t allow either of you to have a different perspective of each other. It’s only now that you may never see each other again that you realize how alike you two are.

“Yeah, it was nice seeing you too, Peli.”

“Take care of each other,” She leans over and places a gentle hand on your forearm. Looking down to where her hand touches you, you feel a surge of emotions. Not just your own, but hers as well. Regret. Pain. Resolve. Hope. All of these subconscious emotions filling you up, making your head spin.

Turning your body, you head up the ramp to the ship’s hull. Peeping over to the fresher, you _really_ should sanisteam, but the fatigue is too intense. You really just want to sleep in that shitty chair in the cockpit and deal with all your responsibilities when you wake up.

Taking to the ladder is a bit of struggle. You have no strength left, and but are forced to conjure some up just to make it to the top. When you see the floor at the top, you grab onto it and hoist yourself to the top, landing on your knees. For a moment, you actually consider just crawling over to the chair, but that seems a little…excessive, therefore you force yourself to your feet and drag them along the ground as you finally reach the chair. Collapsing into it immediately, this chair has never felt more comfortable in your life and the moan you let out once you feel yourself relaxing in it is downright obscene, but you don’t care. Instantly regretting every time you’ve complained about this chair, because right now it’s your saving grace. You’ll never leave this clump of leather; you swear it to the Maker.

“Where’re we headed, now?” Your voice is barely above a whisper as you ask Mando who sits in the pilot’s chair, flicking switches and hearing the Crest’s thrusters come to life.

“Corvus.”

“ _Mmm?_ What’s on Corvus?”

“A Jedi.”

_A Jedi?_ You’ve never had the opportunity of meeting a Jedi, but you’ve heard stories—good and bad ones. How they’re to blame for starting the Clone Wars. How they destroyed the Empire and freed the galaxy from tyranny.

You want to ask why you’re heading to meet a Jedi, but you succumb to sleep before you can ask him, the taste of the Mandalorian still lingering on your tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mandah-lorian.tumblr.com


	5. It All Makes Sense Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> okay sorry peeps but no smut in this one...I did say slow burn, right? hahahahaha. there's a bit of fluff towards the end, but this chapter focuses more on the reader's relationship with the force, but it's not all bad, we have a special guest in the next two chapters!
> 
> warnings: there's a small mention of torture, like in the episode of The Jedi with the prisoners, but it doesn't last very long. other than that, it's just angst angst angst.  
> I also decided to split this chapter in two parts, because I realized that had I kept everything in one chapter it would end up being almost 20K words and that seems like A LOT but that means the next chapter will be uploaded within the next week since I have more than half already written! (also hella making shit up about the force but HEY it's all fun and games) 
> 
> anyway, I hope guys enjoy it!!

Your body jolts awake to the sudden drop out of hyperspace. Panic quickly sets into your blood as you try to get your bearings, but once you see Mando sitting quietly in his chair along with the Child sitting on the control panel just to his right, your heartbeat steadies, and a wave of relief washes over you. Using the heels of your palms to rub at your eyes and clear your vision, you catch the sight of the planet Mando had mentioned just before takeoff on Tatooine through the transparisteel.

“Ah, good. You’re awake.” He addresses as he hears you stir, still keeping the visor glued to the view in front of him.

“Mmm,” You groan back, still somewhat asleep and unable to use your words to answer him properly.

“Corvus, this is the place,” Mando’s voice cuts through the gentle hum of the ship. “I’ve detected a beacon.” You’re about to answer him when you realize that he wasn’t even talking to you to begin with. He was talking to the kid.

The Child looks up at him, and coos as if they’re having a conversation with each other even though they clearly don’t speak the same language, and don’t understand what the other is saying.

“I’m gonna start the landing cycle. You better get back in your seat.”

He looks up again at Mando, but doesn’t budge from where he’s currently seated. Turning his gaze to one of the levers on the control panel, he stares at the durasteel ball just atop of the handle. You’re not sure _why_ the kid loves that ball so much, but it clearly means a lot to him because you’ve seen the way he gets upset or fussy whenever Mando tries to take it away from him.

“Hey,” He warns—not in an aggressive way, but a stern way like a child being scolded by their parent. “What did I tell you? Back in your seat.”

This time the kid listens, letting out a chuff of air before crawling down the little ledge he was seated on previously and gently scuttling back to the seat to your left. 

_Maker_ , your body aches. Sleeping in the chair every night has seriously done a number on your bones and muscles. Twisting your upper body and using the back of the chair to hold yourself in place, a series of smalls cracks echo through the cockpit, and it somewhat releases a bit of the tautness in your back and along your spine. Suddenly becoming aware that you haven’t taken a sanisteam in…well you’re not sure exactly _how_ long it’s been since you left Tatooine, but it’s definitely been long enough; you could seriously benefit from one right now.

Using your palms to push yourself up to your feet by your knees, you inform Mando you’ll be heading down to clean yourself up. “I’ll be ready to go once we land.”

“All right.” He says matter-of-factly.

You wait a couple of seconds before moving, elongating your arms above your head before bringing one of them behind you and stretching out your bicep, holding your elbow with your other arm. You repeat the process with the opposite arm and feel your body slowly coming back to life. A sanisteam is starting to sound better and better with every second. Your feet guide you to the ladder and take two rungs at a time, feet hitting the ground in record time. Not even bothering to wait until you reach the fresher, you strip out of your clothes and gather them together in a small pile atop one of the crates lingering around in the hull.

Once in the fresher, you turn on the water to almost the hottest setting possible. It stings your skin at first, but your body quickly acclimates to the heat, muscles slowly relaxing in response to the gentle massage the showerhead exudes as it hits you, releasing the stiffness from your body. Truthfully, you could stay in this tiny space for hours and just let the water continue to cascade down your skin until your fingertips were wrinkled like a Dressellian prune, but you don’t want to use up all of the hot water since you’re not the only one on this ship who needs to sanisteam. The longer the water pressure falls onto your upper body, you begin to feel a sharp pain on your left shoulder, and you’re forced to recoil from the water in an effort to stop the throbbing ache. Inspecting your naked form to find the source of the discomfort, you notice a large, plump purple bruise nestled between the crook of your neck and the top of your shoulder. It’s a dark shade of purple, with swirls of yellow and forest green surrounding it. _When the Kriff—_

_Oh._

It suddenly comes back to you.

The firm grip on your shoulder.

The feeling of Mando’s cock on your tongue.

His moans.

 _Fuck_ , it’s enough to make your own groan echo through the walls of the refresher.

Maker, pull yourself together!

Giving yourself a gentle slap on the cheek in an effort to knock those filthy thoughts out of your mind and knowing the Crest will be landing in the next couple of minutes, you quickly wash the grime off your body while trying to be mindful of your bruise, and rinse yourself off before grabbing your only remaining clean pair of clothes left, dressing hurriedly just as you hear his footsteps reach the top of the ladder. Your clothes stick to your wet skin, and it’s slightly uncomfortable, but you try not to pay too much attention to it; you’ll dry up eventually.

The Mandalorian descends the ladder, the Child burrowed in one arm, then hands him off to you as he heads to the armory to grab his pulse rifle.

“Hey,” He says before calling your name to get your attention. Turning his body towards you, his arm extends out in your direction, a blaster in his hand. Your eyes shift down to the gun, taking notice of it before your brows pull together tightly, shifting your gaze back up to him in confusion.

“You should probably take this back. Just in case,” He gestures the gun at you, holding the barrel of it so you can grab the handle. It’s a small act, giving you back your blaster, but there’s an unspoken message as he hands you your gun. He now trusts you enough not to shoot him and run off, and at the same time, this gives you the reassurance you needed that he no longer views you as just a quarry, but as his partner.

Putting the kid down for a moment to grab your bag and ruffle through it to retrieve your thigh holster, you strap it around your leg and plop the blaster into the pouch. Once you turn around to pick the Kid back up, you notice he’s already by the back ramp with Mando, both waiting for you to catch up with them.

You head down the ramp first, walking a few feet away from the Crest and taking an immediate scan of the area, as you always do whenever you’re in new territory. It comes at almost as a shock to you that Mando doesn’t instantly head down after you. Instead, he stays at the top of the ramp with the kid, waiting for you to give them the ‘okay’. The sun can barely penetrate the dense amount of cloud here, the area is covered in fog as far as the eye can see, making you shift anxiously. The faint cry of the native beasts’ boom in the distance, making your skin crawl.

Mando’s landed the Crest in a small clearing. The trees appear to be snags—lifeless due to its climate and the lack of sunlight, making the whole planet even more eerie. The quicker you meet the Jedi, the quicker you can get off this planet.

“Not much to see here,” You announce, slightly disappointed by the scenery. When you don’t immediately see a threat, you gesture with your hand that it’s safe to come down, and so he does. The fact that Mando now acknowledges the routine you’ve created isn’t lost on you. In truth, it makes your heart swoon because you both know that he doesn’t _need_ to wait for you. Mando’s more than capable of checking for threats himself, and defending you both if someone tries to ambush you, but he knows it puts you at ease to check for yourself, and the fact that he’s indulging you in this small service shows you he’s more of a softy than he lets on.

As Mando walks towards you, he hears the kid huffing behind him and turns his body to face the little baby waddling down the ramp before falling back on his bum. You make out a small sphere in his hands and realize it’s the knob from the lever in the cockpit. When did he snatch that and how did Mando not see him take it?

“What did I say about that?” He disciplines, taking the ball from his hands and holding it out in front of him. “ _This_ needs to stay in the ship.” The Child looks up at him fondly, chattering incoherently as he watches Mando place the ball in his utility belt.

“Never had dealings with a Jedi before,” He admits before leaning down to pick up the Child and placing him in the makeshift pouch he designed for the baby that’s strapped across his cuirass. “Let’s head into town. See if we can pick up a lead.”

He walks ahead of you just by a couple feet. Your hand hovers over your blaster the entire time, body on edge as you both make your way through the forest. The air is hot and humid, almost suffocating—you can only imagine how hot Mando must feel under all that armor. Your clothes stick to you like glue, a mix of water from the sanisteam as well as from the damp air. Every now and then, the Child babbles nonsense and Mando answers him like he knows exactly what the kid is saying.  
“Don’t worry, Kid. We’re okay.”

It’s quite endearing, seeing such a gentle side to the Mandalorian. You know not many people have had the opportunity to see these little moments, making this that much more special. Watching two beings, appearing to have nothing in common, and clearly coming from two very different upbringings, but having such a deep connection you’re not sure you’ll ever fully understand is quite a beautiful sight. It makes you appreciate these moments so much more. Mando’s letting you in on these precious exchanges, and you’ll cherish them for as long as you live.

After walking for what feels like hours, off in the distance you catch sight of a giant wall made of duracrete, and can faintly make out little blobs at the top of the wall; soldiers by the looks of it.

“A fortified city?” You ask him.

“Seems like it.” He answers as you draw closer to the gates. “Let me do the talking, all right?” He says, more of an order than an actual statement, but you choose not to argue. Mando usually knows better than you, and you’ve shown that you have a tendency to lose your temper, therefore he’s definitely the better mediator between you two.

As you both appear from the edge of the forest, the guards atop the parapet flock to the front gate, their rifles pointed at you. Mando stops just a few metres shy of the gate, waiting. A man suddenly appears, studying you both.

“State your business.” He shouts, standoffish.

“Been tracking for a few days,” The Mandalorian begins to say. You continue studying the gunslinger as well as the other soldiers whose rifles are still pointed at you. Hand continuing to hover merely inches above your blaster, your body fighting the urge to turn this into a fight. “Looking for a layover.”

The man shifts his gaze between you and Mando, clearly debating whether or not to shoot you both where you stand.

“Nice armor.” He jests.

 _Kriff,_ you don’t like the look of this. You’re both severely outgunned, and despite the beskar amour Mando wears, that doesn’t guarantee that _you’ll_ live through this if a fight ensues.

The man to your left doesn’t answer, opting to gauge the gunslinger’s demeanor, waiting for him to press you again.  
“You a hunter, then?”

“That’s right.”

“ _Both_ of you?” His stare turns to you, so you glare back at him, refusing to back down and cower under his own piercing scowl.

“Yes.” You hiss through gritted teeth.

The helmet turns slightly in your direction as if warning you to watch your tone. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you straighten out your shoulders and let your arm drop to your side, no longer hovering over your blaster.

“Guild?”

“Last I checked.” Mando answers, a glint of annoyance is hidden under the deepness of his baritone.

The man studies you two for a couple more seconds, then orders the guards to open the gate. Letting out a deep breath through your lips, you start to feel like this will be the beginning of a very tense day. Better to keep quiet and let Mando handle this, since you tend to shoot first then ask questions later. Your partner is much more of the level-headed one—who would have thought that?

The city itself is small, and very quiet—way too quiet for any normal city. Every city and village you’ve visited have been vibrant and loud, with native villagers and visitors mingling together, but here? The residents walk silently, keeping their heads down, and only peeking at you both through the corners of their eyes. The guards walk around, hands planted firmly on their rifles, as if to be _looking_ for trouble. Immediately, your bones tense and that anger you have trouble controlling begins to bubble up inside you. These villagers seem trapped—Maker, even the kids aren’t running around. They’re stuck to their parents like glue, never taking a single step away from them. This is a city under a gruesome Magistrate.

As you make your way down the main road, Mando catches sight of a vendor and heads for their stand. “Pardon me, vendor, have you heard of anyone…” But as he draws closer to the elderly woman behind the table, they quickly turn their back to you and disappear down a quiet alley.

Eyebrows pulling tightly, your jaw clenches, completely astounded at how these people are too afraid to even talk to you. What kind of monster forces its citizens to live in constant fear to the point of being too afraid to speak to travelers?

Before you know it, you’re following the vendor down the alley when you see another elderly man bending down and whispering to some younglings. Your neck cranes to the side, and you walk over to him cautiously, hoping you won’t startle him.

“Excuse me,”

Once he catches you in his peripherals, he ushers the kids away before rising to his feet and turning his body to you.

“We need some information.” You announce, trying to keep your voice as gentle as you can despite the white-hot rage cooking up in your veins. “We’re looking for someone. Could you help—”

“Please,” he pleads as he holds a palm out in front of him to stop you from elaborating, voice quiet as to not draw any attention to himself. “Do not speak to any of us.”

“Look,” Mando interjects, his attitude becoming less patient as time ebbs on. “I just need to know—”

Before he can finish his sentence, you’re approached by two armed guards. Your hand flies to your holster, and Mando quickly shoots his hand out to stop you.

“The Magistrate wants to see you.” Their voices come out heavily distorted by their voice-box. It’s deep and frightening—no wonder these villagers are terrified. Even you are somewhat taken aback by their aggressive inflection, you can only imagine how these people must feel. Completely helpless and cut off from the anyone else, they don’t have a fighting chance even if they wanted to overthrow their government.

The old man leans over and takes a step back as one of the guards takes a step towards him. Your body cuts the droid off, putting yourself between the both of you. They’re wearing what appears to be a gas mask, but you stare at him, imagining where his eyes would be and continue to burn your own eyes into him, full of poison and anger. Inside, you’re begging him to make a move; to give you an excuse to shoot him right where he stands, but Mando’s visor snaps towards you, shooting you a warning as to not do something stupid. “Let’s go.” He says to you.

You follow Mando and the first guard down the main street, keeping an eye out on that other guard that treads behind you. The soldier leads you to another gate and _kriff,_ you’re completely dumbfounded by what’s in front of you.

Along the cobblestoned street just ahead of the second gate are…prisoners. Prisoners strung up on various poles with a tiny podium to stand on, surrounded by what looks to be some kind of electrical barrier around them. The hostages are disturbingly frail, with many of them scarred with markings of fresh and old burn wounds you assume are from the bars circling around them. One man nearly doubles over and is electrocuted, its power so strong you can see the outline of their bones when the voltage hits their skin. You shudder at the sight of them, feeling your heart drop to your stomach.

They whisper desperately, begging for help but Mando continues walking, only offering one of the prisoners a quick glance. You stop in front of one of the hostages, eyes looking up at him as he cries, pleading over and over again for your help. Your jaw slacks, wanting to say something, but knowing nothing you say will matter. You _can’t_ help them, at least not right now. Making a mental note to tell Mando once you head back to the Crest that you _will_ free these prisoners, your eyes meet with the man’s own droopy, hooded lids, and hope they somehow can understand.

“Hey, girl,” A guard yells out. Looking down at the ground, you hear his heavy footsteps walk towards you, each step getting louder and louder as he nears you. “Keep moving.” He warns.

Biting your tongue and white knuckling your fists at your sides, you catch up with Mando, choosing no longer to wait till you are alone to whisper, “We’re freeing these prisoners before we leave,” through gritted teeth.

Mando’s helmet dips forward just enough for you to see it. The faster you find this Jedi, the sooner these prisoners can be freed. Once the first gate closes behind you, the second one opens and your jaw downright drops.

Firstly, there’s a fucking moat in front of you. When you and Mando were walking through the woodland in search of the village, you hadn’t even come across any body of water, and here the Magistrate is living with a full-on fucking moat. If that wasn’t enough, _Maker_ there are _trees_ here—not just stumps or snag trees, but actual trees flourishing in her small haven. They appear to be some sort of pine tree, but you can’t be sure since you’re too far away from them. Somehow even the air feels different here. Logically, you know that makes no sense, but it must be due to the contrast between how the Magistrate lives compared to how her own people live. There are hostages strung up, and being tortured, citizens who are too scared to even talk to you, living in tiny homes with little to no resources, and this _one_ person is living with such excess and wealth, all the while quite literally separating themselves from the city’s population. It’s disgusting, it’s totalitarian, and the thought of people living in such horrible conditions is making your head spin.

It’s not that you were naïve enough to think there weren’t people living in such awful conditions, it was just that you had never actually seen this firsthand, so it was easy to forget that not everyone was as fortunate as you. Sure, water was a luxury back when you were just a child, but you had never been oppressed or discouraged from being a child. You had the luxury of _walking_ around the city, and not having the stress or fear that any minute now a guard could kill you for doing something as normal as _talking_ to another person. Not knowing how many more planets are under such control, it makes you want to search this entire galaxy and save every single citizen from this kind of barbarity.

The Magistrate is standing by the edge of her moat, appearing to throw something in the water. Maker, if she has fish in this moat, you’ll be… literally fucking speechless.

She addresses Mando to come forward, so he does. You opt to stay by the gate—deciding that it’s would be too difficult to hide the anger on your face and choose to wait for him to return.

* * *

“So she wants you to kill the Jedi?”

“Yes.” He says before putting the Child down gingerly on a smooth boulder.

According to the Magistrate, the Jedi is hiding somewhere in the forest, so now you and Mando have been searching aimlessly through the vast amount of woodland for any sign of a Jedi—whatever what means, but after what felt like hours of searching, your feet were throbbing. After ten minutes of begging him to take a small break, he finally gave in.

Plopping yourself down next to the Child, you continue to pester Mando with more questions. “And she’ll give you that beskar staff if you kill them?”

A drawn-out sign emits from the helmet. “Yes.”

“But we’re not doing that, right?” The question coming out rhetorically.

“No.” He answers curtly.

“Okay, good.” The conversation goes silent for a few seconds, and then your lips are moving again. “I really want to head back in there and shoot that woman right between the eyes.”

A noise comes from him that you’ve never heard before. Was…was that a fucking laugh? Is he fucking laughing at you? “You wouldn’t even get that close before one of her droids would shoot you down.”

“Believe it or not, Mando, but I’m a pretty decent fi—”

All of a sudden, Mando turns his body to yours and throws a gloved hand over your mouth. A small yelp escapes you but is muffled by leather. Your own hand flies to his, struggling to remove his kriffing hand from your face, tugging and trying to pull away from him.

“Stop!” He whispers, before raising a finger to his helmet where his mouth would be, ordering you to be quiet. Giving him a nod, he lets go of you, and presses a button on the side of his helmet then pivots around, scanning the area for lifeforms. Off in the distance, a large beast trots along the forest edge and Mando’s body relaxes.

“False alarm,”

“What the hell, Mando?” You force out through jagged breaths.

“ _Why_ are you here?”

Both your bodies whip around and catch the sight of a female Togruta standing just a few metres away from you. Her blue stripped lekku are enlarged around her round face and extend all the way to her midthighs, giving an indication that she’s of a mature age, although her face is clean of wrinkles, her features still smooth, suggesting she’s still well within her prime. Thick montrals pointing towards the sky like mountain tops, her orange skin reminds you of Tatooine sunsets—warm, and deep. White pigments outlining her cheeks, forehead, and eyebrows, _Maker_ , she is stunning, and intimidating.

In her hands, she’s holding what appears to be two beaming swords. Not unlike the electrical barrier that the Magistrate had her prisoners surrounded by, although this type of energy looks much more elegant and impressive. Its luminescent white light purrs, you can _hear_ the humming even though you’re a couple metres away from her. You’ve never seen a weapon quite like it. It’s much more of sophisticated weapon than you’ve been privy to seeing, but it’s exceptionally beautiful.

“Ahsoka Tano?” Mando asks, holding his hands out in front of him, taking a very cautious step towards her. She tenses, one of the laser swords comes up and she holds it across her chest, keeping the other steadily by her side. Your hand placed firmly on your blaster strapped to your thigh, heart thumping in your chest, you wait for her to attack.

“Who are you?” She says cautiously, keeping that glowing spear between Mando and herself.

“Bo-Katan sent me.” He says warily.

The Togruta stares at Mando, then to you before straightening out her back, her weapons’ beaming white blades retracting into their handles.

“We need to talk.” Mando clarifies, standing up straight.

“Well, I hope it’s about them,” She answers kindly, shooting you a quick wink before taking a step towards you.

Crossing your arms and lips forming a tight line, your head jerks back when she responds.

“What do you mean, “ _them_?”

Mando retreats to get the Child, and holds him with one arm, choosing to stand almost directly between you and Ahsoka. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”

Her posture changes from weary to inviting, hooking her weapons back on her hips, her back untensing and taking a step back. “Come.”

You and Mando follow her through the thick, dense woods, nearly tripping and twisting your ankle trying to avoid the roots that are nestled above the dirt, or stumps that have fallen over and are lying on the ground.

She finds a spot not too covered in trees, with a couple of boulders lying around in a circle. In the middle are embers from an old fire that you assume she made for herself. She sits down on one of the rocks, then you and Mando follow suit. He places the Child gently between himself and Ahsoka, and presses a button on his vambrace, causing a flame to shoot out from his wrist, reigniting the ashes. Instead of waiting for either of them to speak, you begin questioning Ahsoka. 

“So,” You say, head craning in her direction. “You’re a Jedi?”

Ahsoka lets out a small chuckle, eyes shifting towards the ground. You can vaguely make out the blaze in the reflection of her eyes. “No, I’m not a Jedi, not anymore.”

“Is there anything you can tell me about this little one?” Mando questions her, jerking his neck to the left where the green baby is perched between them. She turns her head towards the Child, and almost instantaneously, his giant ears perk up, big eyes peering up at her, uttering unintelligibly.

“Can I have a moment alone with him?” She asks you and Mando. He doesn’t say anything in response, but stands up straight and walks away, not once looking back. You’re a few seconds late, but finally rise to your own feet before taking one last look at Ahsoka. She smiles at you and nods. You hear her voice and at first believe she’s actually spoken to you, but quickly realize her lips haven’t moved.

_It’s okay._

Surely, you’re imagining things. It’s not possible to hear someone’s voice so clearly in your mind unless they actually said something to you…right?

Pushing the thought out of your mind, you turn on your heel, and you walk over to where Mando is pacing back and forth. He’s quiet as usual, but his body language is screaming. He’s tense, boots retracing the same steps over and over, shoulders square and hands fidgeting by his thighs. The apprehension, his nervousness—it’s practically seeping from him. It’s not something you ever thought you’d see—Mando anxious about a situation, given that he’s usually a lot better at keeping his cool under pretty much every single stressful situation.

At first, you think about asking him if he’s okay, or showing him that you notice his tentativeness, but it’s quickly shoved out of your mind when you remember how little he likes to talk about himself or how he’s feeling. You know firsthand that he prefers to stay silent rather than admit what’s going on inside his head.

Choosing to sit on a tree stump that’s fallen over on the ground, you continue to study Ahsoka and the Child. They stare at each other for a couple minutes not saying anything, just offering each other a series of smiles, gazes, and tilts of the head. As you continue to watch them, it’s almost as if you can _hear_ them, which you know logically makes no sense. It’s very faint and muffled, taking all the concentration you can muster but you swear to the Maker you can hear them speaking to each other. The harder you squint, the clearer their voices get. However, it’s when you close your eyes and pull your brows together tightly, giving them your full attention that their voices become almost as clear as day.

_His name is Grogu._

_He was raised at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant._

_Order 66._

What’s order 66?

Before you can make out anything else, Ahsoka’s voice pulls you out of your concentration, calling you both over. Jumping to your feet in record time, you reach out and grab hold of Mando’s vambrace. He stills at your touch.

“Come,” You say gently, motioning your head over to the two by the fire.

The deep breath he lets out pulls rough from his vocoder, you can _feel_ the trepidation in his body spilling into his lungs. He trails behind you and when you both reach them; you sit back down on the rock you were seated on before, but Mando chooses to stand instead.

“Has he…said anything? Do you… _understand_ him?” He asks Ahsoka curiously, but with a hint of worry in his baritone.

“In a way. Grogu and I can read each other’s thoughts.”

“Grogu?” Mando’s voice is gentle but still low, and almost immediately, the Child’s ears perk up once again, and his little head jerks to face him, a gentle noise of glee escapes him.

“Yes,” Ahsoka says, smiling. “That’s his name, but you already knew that.”

“I—” He begins to say but Ahsoka cuts him off.

“No, not you. Her.”

Both Ahsoka and Mando’s head turn to you. Leg bouncing anxiously off the ground, your jaw slacks to answer, but not entirely sure _how_ to answer. “Uh—Yeah, I mean he didn’t exactly tell me but he…kind of did?”

“What do you mean?” Mando presses you.

One of your hands rub the back of your neck and your eyes trail away from the two people staring you down to look at your feet. Clearing your throat, you answer uncertainly. “I…don’t know how he did it or how I was able to understand it.”

“Are you both still able to wield the Force?” Ahsoka asks curiously.

“The Force?” You repeat in confusion.

“You mean, his powers?” The Mandalorian chimes in.

“The Force is what gives him his powers. It’s an energy field created by all living things. It also allows us to communicate with each other.” She clarifies, somewhat answering your question but simultaneously confusing you even more. What the hell is ‘The Force’?

“You’re saying he used ‘The Force’ to communicate with me?”

“In a way, yes. We can communicate with others who are Force-sensitive, although it takes a great deal of training and discipline to wield it properly.”

Does this mean…?

Is she saying you’re…?

_Force-sensitive?_

Ahsoka sighs before addressing you again. “I sense a lot of conflict in you,”

“I’m just finding all of this very hard to believe,” You admit.

Ahsoka acknowledges your stunned expression with a gentle nod, before shifting the conversation towards the real issue—Grogu. Turning her eyes away from you, she now speaks to Mando. “Grogu was raised and trained by many Masters at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. At the end of the Clone Wars, when the Jedi were deemed traitors of the Republic, they were hunted down and killed. Grogu was smuggled out of the Temple beforehand, and has been forced to hide his abilities in order to survive over the years.”

Peeking over to observe Grogu, your heart aches. How could anyone want to harm him? He’s just a child, an innocent creature. “Do you know of anyone else like _him?_ ”

“I’ve only ever known one other being like this.” Her eyes trail off to gaze into the fire once again. “A wise Jedi Master named Yoda. I didn’t know others like him existed.”

“My task was to bring him to a Jedi. Can you train him?”

Ahsoka lets out a deep breath before answering. “The Jedi Order fell a long time ago.”

“So did the Empire, yet it still hunts us.” Your voice comes out more aggressive than you intended, but you’re desperate for answers.

Ahsoka looks down to the Child once again. His eyes flutter shut, exhaustion overcoming his little body until he all but bows his head to fall asleep. “Let him rest for now, I’ll test him in the morning.”

Mando’s helmet dips forward in agreement. He moves around the fire and makes his way over to Grogu and picks him up gingerly, holding him close to his cuirass and motioning his head in the direction of the Crest. Humming in response and rising to your own feet, you make to follow behind Mando back to ship when Ahsoka places a hand on your forearm.

“A moment?”

“Uh, sure,” You answer hesitantly. “I’ll meet you back at the ship.” You call over to Mando.

He huffs in response before walking away, Grogu fast asleep in his arms. Sitting back down, you wait for Ahsoka to speak.

“You’re troubled. I can sense it.”

Jaw dropping, you look for the words to accurately describe just how confused and in disbelief you are. Gesticulating around you, your voice is soft and low. “How—how is this possible?” A laugh escapes your lips. “I’m just a mecha—smuggler.” You catch yourself, the word barely leaving your lips. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

Her own lips form a tight line, as if she’s seen others react the same way. “It’s unclear how the Force works, and there’s no definitive way of explaining who has the gift and who hasn’t. We’re just…burdened with it.” Her eyes look down at the ground. It’s evident there’s some unresolved regret and sadness she’s been carrying for years, and you can’t help but wonder what could have possibly happened to her for her to feel this way.

“You said ‘I’m not a Jedi, not anymore’. What did you mean by that?”

She takes a deep breath, exhaling through her nose before speaking. “I left the order when I was young. It… wasn’t what I thought it was anymore.” Her voice trails off.

“What _was_ it supposed to be? Who were the Jedi?” You don’t mean to ask so many questions, but there are so many pieces to this puzzle that you don’t understand yet. You’re supposedly predestined to be a Jedi, but you know nothing about them. Stories of the Jedi weren’t told to you when you were a child. It was treated more like a moment in history that no one wanted to speak of—like it was a stain on the galaxy that the majority of folks wanted to forget.

“We were trained to be keepers of the peace, but that all changed when the Clone Wars began. Jedi were suddenly soldiers and thrown into battle, required to fight for the Republic and keep the Separatists from expanding.”

“You fought?”

Ahsoka’s voice is low, like your question that thrown her back into the war, reliving all the pain from her youth. “I was just a Padawan when I joined the war effort. At first it was easy to say we were fighting to maintain the peace, but after a while, it almost felt like _we_ became the ones raging the war. All of a sudden, the Order just didn’t feel like it once was…” She goes quiet for a moment, trying to find the right words to describe her conflicting feelings. “It changed.”

Your hand reaches out to hold hers. Once your skin touches her, immense pain overwhelms you. It’s haunting, a sudden hole fills your body with anger, regret, sadness. There’s a male voice, low and threatening, taunting her as he hisses.

_Why did you leave?_

_You abandoned me!_

_Do you know what I’ve become?_

Hand recoiling away, your left with the same empty feeling as her. It’s unnerving, experiencing something that hasn’t even happened to you yet somehow able to feel it so deeply, as if you know who this man is, but it gives you an insight as to just how tortured she must be feeling, and why she’s alone on this planet.

“Who…who was that?” Your voice is strained, shuddering out little breaths.

“Someone who meant a great deal to me.” Ahsoka’s face softens immediately, a somber smile develops on her lips, losing that hard, stoic demeanor she’s kept up in front of you and Mando. “An incredibly skilled Jedi Knight. He was my Master.”

“What happened to him?”

Ahsoka’s lungs fill with air, and she takes her time exhaling before answering you. “He fell to the Dark Side…” Her voice breaks up at the end, and clears her throat, giving the impression that she feels guilty about it, while also trying to regain control of her emotions.

Despite hearing the term ‘Dark Side’ for the first time, you almost instantaneously know what it is. The voice that creeps into your mind, the one that feeds off your anger and emotions, the one that scratches the inside of your brain, hissing to cause harm and feed the deepest parts of yourself that you despise. It all makes sense now.

“I sense it within you.” Her voice barely above a whisper, but clear enough to make your skin crawl. It’s a truth you didn’t know you had been dreading to hear. A truth you yourself had tried to ignore. The part of you that you hated most, finally being noticed by a complete stranger, it triggers something deep inside you, almost confirming your worst fears. You’re a danger, not only to yourself but to anyone around you. It’s suddenly as clear as day why you’ve tried to keep your distance from those you loved ever since your parents’ death. Why you never allowed yourself the luxury of attachments or love. Somehow, you knew that in order to keep yourself and others safe, you needed to put a barrier up, a wall to stop yourself from hurting others.

“I…don’t know how to control it.” Desperation in your voice, it becomes obvious that you’re both struggling to find solace.

“You should get some sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning, okay?” Attempting to put you somewhat at ease, she offers you a smile, although her eyes show you anything but contentment. There’s a sadness in them, like she already knows your fate but is unsure of the proper way of confessing it to you.

Nodding your head slowly, you push yourself to your feet and make a beeline for the Crest. Ahsoka stands, watching you drag your feet back to the ship, then disappears through the fog, and back into the forest.

When you reach the back ramp of the ship, the lights are dimmed to the lowest setting, your legs almost collapsing once you reach the hull from all the trekking throughout the day. Leaning over to the side of the ramp, you press a button on the board by the door and the ramp creaks shut.

The Crest is deafeningly quiet. As you make your way deeper into the ship, you observe Grogu sleeping soundly in his little hammock inside Mando’s bunk. Making sure not to make too much noise on the ladder, you gently head up to the cockpit and find Mando sitting in the pilot’s chair, unsure if he’s sleeping or simply sitting there like a statue which you’ve noticed he’s does from time to time. Upon entering the cockpit, you sigh a little loudly, testing to see if he’s awake.

Practically falling into your seat, you know you should get some sleep, but the mental exhaustion is almost too intense, you can’t seem to get your mind off everything that’s happened. Continuously mulling over what Ahsoka’s said, noting how it makes perfect sense, but not wanting to accept it.

“Are you…all right?” Mando asks you timidly, the deepness of his tone cutting through the low hum of the dimmed lights.

The question bounces around in your mind.

 _Are you_ _all right?_

Just under a couple of hours ago, you had never even heard of ‘The Force’, let alone supposedly have a connection to this intangible entity. Of course, there are things that you’ve done that you couldn’t logically explain, but does that necessarily mean you suddenly have some greater purpose? That you’re this…peacekeeper with an obligation to protect others?

Did your parents know?

Did they keep this a secret from you in order to protect you or were they just as in the dark as you were about this?

Everything you thought you knew about yourself is once again being challenged.

_Mechanic._

_Smuggler._

_Quarry._

_Jedi?_

How are you supposed to navigate through this? Ahsoka said herself the Jedi were basically wiped out right as the Empire rose to power. What does that mean for you? Is the Empire hunting you down _because_ you’re ‘force-sensitive’?

Certainly, it would be easier to simply put this all behind you. Help Mando with Grogu and then go your separate ways, ignoring what Ahsoka’s told you about being connected to The Force.

Do what you must in order to stay alive.

Keep to yourself just as you’ve always done, and survive. 

But… _is_ that the right thing to do? How does one know if the path they’re on is the correct one? It’s not like there’s someone all knowing that you can ask, or seek help from. The only thing you can do is trust your own instincts, go over each possibility and examine them meticulously, and pray to the Maker that you’ll be drawn to one option more than another.

Remembering that Mando’s just asked you a question but not remembering exactly what it was, you hum in your throat. “Hmm?”

Mando swivels his chair around to face you. “Are you all right?”

“It’s funny how we can here for the kid, and now I’m the one having some kind of existential crisis.” Your tone is wry, the ability to mock yourself never waving.

“Yeah.” He answers coolly, probably just because he doesn’t know what else to say. Mando’s not really one to comfort or coddle, unless it’s Grogu but that doesn’t bother you so much. Mando is the way he is, and you wouldn’t change a thing about him.

Before you even realize what you’re doing, you’re rising to your feet, word vomit expelling from your lips.

“I’ve lived my whole life not knowing where I belong. Navigating through various routes, trying to find my purpose and what I’m supposed to be doing, and I was fine with smuggling. I know it wasn’t honorable or strictly _legal_ , but it made me _feel_ better about my place in the galaxy. It felt better than being a mechanic on some rotten planet because at least I was seeing what the galaxy had to offer me, right? But it still couldn’t fill this empty pit I felt in my stomach.” Your breathing is erratic, chest pumping in and out as your heartbeat races.

“And I dealt with that. I did things I regretted but I never allowed myself to dwell on those things because I knew what I had to do in order to survive. Then out of nowhere I’m being hunted by what I thought was the New Republic but oh no surprise!” Your voice becoming almost hysterical, empty laughs punching out of you through jagged breaths. “It’s actually the Empire! Because I now apparently have some connection to an entity that exists in a form that I don’t even understand and have never heard of.

“All the while, I have this voice inside my head that fucking eats away at me. ‘Do this’ and ‘Make them feel pain’, ‘Hurt them like they hurt you’. It’s fucking gnawing at my brain, and I have no fucking idea how to control it or get it to stop. I feel like a monster, like some evil being that will one day just explode and hurt anyone in my path, and it fucking terrifies me because I can’t control it. I can’t fucking control it, Mando.” Your voice is hoarse, speaking so fast your lungs can’t keep up with you, only allowing yourself quick breaths as you begin to feel yourself hyperventilate.

Mando rises to his feet ever so slowly, visor glued to you as you continue to explode.

“What am I supposed to do? Am I supposed to follow down the path of being a Jedi despite not knowing a single fucking thing about them? You heard what Ahsoka said about them. They were almost all _wiped_ out.”

Your hands fly to your face, squeezing your eyes shut so hard, you’re seeing stars, and rubbing the heels of your palms into your skin. Completely overwhelmed by everything, you just want to disappear.

Then, you feel rough, sturdy gloves wrap around your wrists, and gently pulling at them, freeing your hands away from your face. When you finally open your eyes, all you see is Mando’s helmet, the ‘T’ of his visor looking down at you. He doesn’t let go of your wrists, just continues to hold them gingerly, even pulling them towards his chest. You take a step towards him, standing merely inches away from each other. He says nothing, but truthfully, he doesn’t need to. Holding you steady is all he needs to do in order to calm you down. Your breathing is slowly starting to regulate itself, even though your mind is still shouting at you.

Hearing a soft exhale emit through the helmet, Mando speaks quietly and softly. “You’re not a monster.”

“But—”

“We’ve all done things we regret.” He tells you softly. “What matters _is_ that you regret it, which means you’re not a monster, because they don’t regret anything they’ve done.”

Your head dips downward, letting out a deep breath through slightly parted lips, as you begin shaking your head. “What if I hurt you or the kid one day?”

“You won’t.”

“You don’t know—”

“I do,” He says firmly, leaving you no more room to argue.

When you finally look up into the black eye slit of his helmet, you wish you were looking into his eyes. To see him looking back at you would be a blessing right now, but you know better than to ask him to take it off. You don’t know much about Mandalorians, but from the one you _do_ know, he never takes his helmet off, and you wouldn’t dare ask him to break his creed just for you. So, this will have to do.

“Get some sleep.” He says then releases your wrists, letting them fall to your sides.

“I’m not tired,” You mumble.

“Yes, you are.” He argues. “Use the cot downstairs.”

“But that’s where you sleep.”

He turns away from you, sitting back in the pilot’s chair and swiveling it around so you’re facing the back of the seat. “I’ll sleep here. Now, go.”

He leaves no room for argument, and honestly? Finally being able to sleep lying down and not sitting upright in a chair does sound amazing. You head down the ladder without another word, feeling the sudden exhaustion hit you hard. Grogu’s still sound asleep in his hammock, and you wiggle into the tiny sleeping space, being mindful not to touch the hammock or make too much noise that might wake him up, gently pressing on the button on the panel near the door and hearing it _woosh_ shut. Your nostrils fill up instantly with Mando’s smell. Notes of beskar, musk, and his soap fill your sinuses and you take a deep, burning breath, trying to inhale as much Mando as you can in one breath. The voices in your head are still chattering away, but being bundled up in Mando’s blanket and his smell is enough for you to push those noises away and fall asleep to the sound of the Child’s gentle snores.

* * *

Grogu’s training begins in the early morning. You’re all gathered around the same place you were last night, but there’s definitely more tension than there was the night before. For starters, you basically had a mental breakdown in front of Mando last night, and you’re feeling pretty guilty and embarrassed about it. You should have been able to keep your emotions in check and under control, but instead you blew up in front of the _one_ person you didn’t want to blow up in front of.

Secondly, today you’ll all be seeing Grogu’s abilities firsthand, and find out just how much training he’s had and what he’s fully capable of doing, and it’s pretty easy to tell that Mando is nervous. The way he carries himself; back tense and his hands balled into fists at his sides, shifting uncomfortably as he watches Grogu stand on a rock just a few feet away from Ahsoka. You’re standing to his right, nerves and curiosity radiating off your skin.

“Let’s see what knowledge is lurking in that little mind of yours, shall we?” She says to Grogu before turning her head to you both. Clearing your throat, you nod in acknowledgement while Mando stays stiff as a board.

She reaches down and picks up a small stone off the ground and holds it out in front of her chest. Looking down at the rock and watching her eyes squint, it suddenly lifts out of her palm and stays in limbo for a moment before she uses her hand to _push_ it towards Grogu. It flows over so slowly in his direction, his little arms reaching out and grabbing it with both hands. You stand there, completely stunned, eyes wide-shot and jaw practically hanging. It’s something you’ve been able to do as well, but only during bouts of anger or in the middle of a fight. 

“Now, return the stone to me, Grogu,” She instructs, her voice gentle but commanding all the same.

His head tilts to the side, continuing to hold it firmly with his claws.

“He doesn’t understand what you’re saying,” Mando blurts out.

“He does.” She reassures him, holding her hand out and gently coaxing Grogu once again to hand her the rock. “The stone, Grogu.”

The Child gurgles, then drops the stone in a chuff of defeat. A drawn-out sigh releases from Mando’s helmet, somewhat irritable, but not fully angry.

Ahsoka approaches Grogu, leaning down to pick up the stone he’s dropped and taking his tiny hand in hers. Her head dips forward and whispers, “I sense much fear in you, little one.”

Grogu coos in response, his big eyes blinking slowly. She flashes him a kind smile and takes a couple steps back, cocking her head to one side as she ponders her next move. Ahsoka’s eyes meet yours for a second and just when they meet, it’s almost like you both come up with the same idea. Grogu needs a different kind of enticement, a more personal incentive.

“Let’s try something else,” She says. “Come here.”

Mando looks over to the Child and motions with his head for him walk over to meet Ahsoka. When he looks over to the Mandalorian with a puzzled look, Mando sighs again. “He’s stubborn.”

Unable to hide the smile on your face, you shake your head just as Ahsoka lips curl upwards. “Not him, you.” She says, looking at him.

Mando hesitates at first, so you grab hold of his forearm and almost usher him in Ahsoka’s direction. “I want to see if he’ll listen to you,” She says curiously.

Mando scoffs, and the sound comes out scratchy and low through the vocoder. “That would be a first.”

Handing Mando the stone, she instructs him to hold it in his palm, open faced and tell Grogu to lift and take the rock. He stands there awkwardly, shifting a bit, clearly a little uncomfortable but in an endearing way. You smile from ear to ear, watching Mando be so confused but approaching this in a gentle way that you know almost no one has been privy to witnessing. It tugs at your heartstrings, observing father and son.

He lets out a deep breath before following Ahsoka’s direction. “Okay, kid. Lift the stone.”

“Grogu,” You clarify, still smiling.

He whips his head to face you then back to the Child.

“Grogu,”

The Child’s ears perk up instantly hearing Mando’s voice call him, cooing excitedly. “Take the stone.”

Looking at the rock, Grogu babbles and then looks at the ground defeatedly.

“See?” Throwing the stone on the ground in annoyance, Mando looks over to where you and Ahsoka are standing. “I told you, he’s stubborn.”

You and Ahsoka turn heads to look at each other, knowing damn well it’s not because the kid is stubborn, but because _Mando_ is stubborn. Keeping an emotional type of distance between him and every person in the galaxy, never allowing himself to make a meaningful connection.

“Try to connect with him,” Ahsoka chimes.

Mando studies Grogu, possibly trying to gauge a reaction or an insight as to what he wants. His gloved hands come up to grasp onto his utility belt and then you notice him fiddle with his belt and flesh out the metal knob from the lever of the Crest. Both you and Mando know just how much that durasteel ball means to Grogu, and if there’s one thing in this galaxy that the kid absolutely _loves_ and wants at all times, it’s that ball.

Sure enough, as soon as he sees Mando with the ball in his hand, his ears perk up immediately and giggles of joy rush out of him. Mando bends his knees, crouching down so that he’s at eye level with him, holding the ball between his fingers, enticing the downright giddy baby just a few feet away from him.

“Grogu,” His tone is playful, and it shocks you. He’s never spoken that way around you. Mando has a monotone way of speaking, maintaining a level tone, or an annoyed tone. Never speaking in a playful or humorous manner. To see him show this kind of vulnerability must be hard for him, especially in front of Ahsoka who he’s known for half a day, but Mando knows this isn’t about him, this is for Grogu, and he’ll do whatever it takes for the kid.

“Do you want _this?_ ”

The Child fixates on the ball, arms reaching out in front of him, almost begging for it, but Mando continues to tempt him, speaking low but tender, as he urges Grogu to take it. “Well, go ahead. Go on, take it. You can do it.”

 _Maker_ , it takes everything in you not to scream. The way Mando continues to coax him, the way Grogu coos and looks at him so lovingly, it’s enough to break hearts. A relationship borne of hunter and quarry turned father and son. Something so rare, so genuine. To think that these two beings don’t even speak the same language yet have an attachment so fierce and pure.

Eyes squinting in concentration, Grogu’s hand reaches out just a little further and then the ball flies from Mando’s hand right into the Child’s little grip.

“Good job!” Mando exclaims, pure joy and full of proudness. Your mouth falls into a toothy grin as you watch him approach the Child and continue to affirm how proud he is. Looking over at Ahsoka and expecting to see her smiling, your face quickly changes when you take notice of her expression. She’s looking down at the ground, not a speck of joy on her face. In fact, she looks defeated, like she’s just witnessed something awful. Eyebrows pulling together, you give her a nudge with your elbow, asking what’s wrong without actually asking what’s wrong.

“I knew you could do it. Very good,” Mando continues to praise.

“He’s formed a strong attachment to you,” She says before her lips press into a thin line.

“Is that a bad thing?” You question. Taking a step towards Mando and away from Ahsoka, and crossing your arms against your chest, your head cocks to one side waiting for her to explain.

“I cannot train him.”

“What?” Mando straightens out immediately and turns his body to face her. “You’ve seen what he can do, right?” He asks curtly, a hint of underlying anger in his vibrato.

“His attachment to you makes him vulnerable to his fears—his anger.”

“All the more reason to train him.”

“No,” She grits out through her teeth. “I’ve seen what such feelings can do to a person. What it can do to even the best of the Jedi Knights. I will _not_ start this child on that path. Better to let his abilities fade.”

You take a step back; a sneer escapes your lips as you try to understand what the hell she’s saying. “Let his abilities fade? Look at him. You can’t just give up on him.”

She looks down at Grogu who’s too busy examining the ball in his hands to notice the three of you arguing. Giving you both a quick glance, Ahsoka shakes her head. “I’ve delayed too long. I must head back to the village.” She turns on her heel and begins walking away from you two when Mando gets her attention.

“The Magistrate’s asked me to kill you.”

Ahsoka freezes, turning her body slowly towards you, hands making their way to the weapons strapped around her waist.

“I didn’t agree to anything.” Mando clarifies.

Uncrossing your arms, you take a tentative step towards her. “We’ll help you free the village, but at the very least, Grogu,” You point a finger in Grogu’s general direction, “needs training.”

She clamps down on her jaw, eyebrows knitting together as she mulls over the proposition.

“Fine, but we hit the city tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked the way I wrote Ahsoka. I basically ignored what Rosario's Ahsoka characterization was and and went based off clone wars Ahsoka. I also based her appearance off this episode of tcw 


	6. Choices Are Made in an Instant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ahhhhh I'm like super excited about where this story is headed 
> 
> warnings: SMUT, dom/sub mentions, mild choking, (maybe a bit of edging?), mando is possessive af, aftercare, graphic depictions of violence, a sprinkle of fluff.

“What’s the plan, again?” Mando asks you, not because he doesn’t know the plan, but because he wants to make sure _you_ know the plan.

Scowling up at him as you sit on the floor of the Crest, Grogu slowly falling asleep in your lap, you roll your eyes when you see Mando put his hands on his hips like he’s annoyed with you. “Seriously?”

His head tilts to the side, and then shifts his weight over to one leg. For someone who doesn’t like to talk about their feelings, he sure does wear his emotions on his sleeve. Mando’s body language is a dead giveaway as to what’s going on under that bucket of his.

“Fine. If it’ll make you happy.” You pick the kid up off the ground and hold him in your arm as you explain to Mando—for the _third_ time, what’s going to happen.

“Ahsoka will storm the main gate and engage the guards. You and I are going to walk around the wall and find a way into the village without getting seen. The Magistrate—”

“Morgan Elsbeth.” Mando chimes in.

“Yeah, whatever.” Using your free hand to wave him off because who cares what her name is? “As I was saying before I was _rudely_ interrupted—Ahsoka needs some information from Elsbeth so she’s off limits.”

“Good. You remember.”

“You know—”

“Yes?” He probes.

Lips forming a thin line, and realizing he’s just trying to rile you up you shrug it off and bite your tongue, instead opting to put Grogu down inside Mando’s bunk. The Child looks up at you with his big eyes, babbling incoherently. You wiggle your finger in front of him, causing him to giggle excitedly.

“Are you sure he’ll be safe here, alone?” You ask Mando over your shoulder, continuing to play around the kid.

“There’s no one else out here but us, and I’m going to engage the ground security protocols once we leave.” He explains as he fiddles through his armory, gently placing his pulse rifle back on its hook, and reaching over to his jetpack and strapping it to his back. “Nothing will penetrate the Crest.”

It doesn’t do much to ease your anxiety but since Mando seems comfortable with this, then this must be the safest place for him to be. Air exhales through your slightly parted lips as you turn to the armory and grab a vibroblade from Mando’s stock, strapping it to your right thigh. As time ebbs on, the sound of the blood pounding in your ears becomes louder and louder, and you’re unable to stop the steady thumping of your heart against your ribcage. This feeling reminds you of spice running. The rush, the excitement, the worry of not knowing what could happen or if part of the plan could go wrong; it’s something you’ve always chased after.

The plan is almost foolproof, so you shouldn’t worry. Of course, the thought of something going wrong is always there in the back of your mind, but how often do you see a Jedi, a Mandalorian, and a smuggler working together? You’re almost certain this is the first time in the galaxy that this has happened, so how could you fail?

As you make your way to the ramp, you feel a rough leather glove grab hold of your wrist, and turns you around gingerly to face the Mandalorian.

“Are you sure about this?” He asks, tone low and husky, and it strokes _that_ part inside of you that forces you to rub your thighs together.

No matter how much time you two can spend being around each other, the moment you’re standing only inches apart—you can’t stop your heart rate from picking up. Your mouth dries up like the sand dunes on Tatooine, and the only thing you can focus on is how fucking intoxicating this man is.

“You can stay here with him.”

His hand is still on your wrist, and you look down to where leather meets your skin. His thumb brushes small, gentle circles on your wrist; an otherwise small token of affection, but taking into consideration that Mando is willingly giving you such a gesture, it makes you heart do cartwheels.

“And miss all the action?” A smile stretches across your face, arching an eyebrow at him. “No way, Mando.”

“What if something goes wrong?”

“Then you’ll need all the help you can get.”

He whispers your name softly and drawls out exhale that cuts up through his vocoder, as if your name is his way of begging you to reconsider. The ‘T’ of his visor stays glaring at you, but it’s damn near impossible to sway you from doing something once you’ve set your mind on it, so no matter how he stares, it won’t make much of a difference. He knows this isn’t a battle he’ll win. Your free hand reaches out, fingertips brushing against his elbow, hoping your touch will help calm his apprehensiveness about you coming along.

“Mando, I’ll be fine. I know you like to worry, but I’ve been in plenty of worse situations and I’m still here.”

Making a noise deep in the back of his throat, he gives you a quick nod and lets go of your wrist. A groan threatens to escape through your lips at the sudden lack of touch, but you manage to keep it under control as he breezes passed you, hearing his boots hit the durasteel ground as he descends the side ramp of the Crest. Taking one last deep breath and looking at Mando’s cot where Grogu is resting, you walk over to the panel by the door, and whisper “We’ll be back soon, kid,” before pressing the button to close the door, watching it come down with a hum. You turn on your heel and march down the ship to meet Mando, who waits patiently for you to join him before using his vambrace to shut the ramp.

You tread towards the village in a comfortable silence. Nightfall is especially unnerving here. The air _feels_ dirty, like dust and ash mixed together, trekking through large gusts of wind as it almost knocks you off your feet. The sky is a dark mossy green, glooming over you, almost like there’s an ominous presence watching the night unfold. Three clicks away from the wall is where you meet Ahsoka. She’s wearing a long robe that aides her in hiding within the shadows, the hood pulled over her montrals, cloaking them from being detected. Her lightsabers, _not_ laser swords like you thought they were called, dangle off her waist. You eye them curiously, wondering how it must feel to wield one of them. The thought makes you chuckle. If you really wanted to know what it felt like to hold such a beautiful weapon in your hand, you just had to find someone to train you, and then you’d be privy to it. A problem for another time, though. Right now, you had more important matters to worry about.

Just as you reach the woodland edge, Ahsoka turns to you and Mando and once again repeats the Magistrate is not to be harmed.

“Save the prisoners,” She reiterates.

Offering her a nod and a smile of reassurance, her hand touches your forearm, squeezing it gently. Mando detaches his right pauldron—the one with his signet engraved and hands it to Ahsoka. It looks like a mudhorn signet. You’re reminded of what Grogu had shown you just a few days ago. Mando battling the ferocious beast, and the Child, watching him on the brink of death, feeling his _need_ to save the Mandalorian.

“We’ll go around the perimeter,” He announces, shooting you a quick look that you acknowledge by dipping your head downwards. “Just make my death believable.”

The corners of Ahsoka’s lips curl upwards. “Don’t worry about that.”

You and Mando break off, choosing to go to her left. Being mindful of where you walk, and making sure not to rise any suspicions by making noise and accidentally stepping on a broken twig, your eyes shift constantly between the ground and the giant wall just a few metres in front of you. Given your experience with sneaking around, you’re basically a master at keeping to the shadows.

Once Mando’s content with the distance you’ve put between yourselves and Ahsoka, he scans the area of lifeforms with his helmet. Beckoning with his hand, he moves forward with you following closely behind him. You crouch over, making yourself seem as small as you head straight for the fortified village.

“We’re going to have to climb it.” He says, realizing the sound of his jetpack would be too loud and alert the guards.

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to sneak around,” You jest.

Mando lifts an arm towards the top of the rampart and a grappling line shoots out from his vambrace, flying right over the top of the duracrete wall and latching onto the parapet. Tugging the rope to make sure it’s got enough of a sturdy grip for both of you to scale, he hands you the wire to climb first. Blood pounding in your ears and your heart racing faster than the fathier races on Canto Bight, you take the line from Mando’s hand and pull on it hard enough until your body is leaning backwards.

Your left foot presses against the rampart, making sure to balance yourself properly before your other foot hits the wall, then you begin scaling it. Mounting it quickly, you make it to the top in just under a minute—you can’t help but be impressed with yourself.

Once you climb over the parapet, you crouch down immediately, head whipping to the left then to the right to make sure there aren’t any soldiers in sight. In the distance you hear cries of pain, _whooshing_ , and a loud bang. Ahsoka must have engaged the guards by now.

Taking notice that the coast is clear, you beckon for Mando to join you, and he scales the duracrete wall, beating your time by just a couple of seconds. _Show off._

The village is a good… maybe thirty or forty feet drop, and the thought makes you groan. Already you can feel the ache in your legs and knees, but better to get it over with. As you’re about to jump off the wall, Mando’s arm comes flying out across your torso.

“What the hell are you doing?” He whispers through gritted teeth.

Standing there somewhat dumbfounded, your eyebrows pull closely together. “I was going to jump?”

“And break your legs in the process?” He asks rhetorically. Then, without waiting for your answer, he coils the grappling line around his arm that you used to scale the rampart and drops it on the other side of the wall.

“Are you _sure_ you’ve done this before?”

Your eyes dart over to Mando’s eye slit, narrowing them as you watch him climb down just as fast as he came up. When you hear him reach the ground and taking one last look around, you grab onto the line and head down into the village.

The fighting in the distance has stopped, you hope that means Ahsoka’s made it through the barricade of guards. Darting between alleys through the village, you can hear her voice echoing in the distance.

“ _Your bounty hunters failed.”_

Making sure to keep your centre of gravity low as you continue to navigate through the huts, you follow Mando on his heels until you see Ahsoka in your sights. She’s standing just a few metres away from Elsbeth, who has her own platoon of armed soldiers behind her, holding the staff in her hand, alongside the gunslinger Lang.

“Tell me what I want to know.” Ahsoka says, voice calm and stern. “ _Where_ is your master?”

Elsbeth stays silent for a few seconds, scowling at Ahsoka, eyes burning into hers, rage all but spilling out of her words. “Kill her.”

Lang takes a step forward, hands gripping his gun fiercely as he says with amusement, “Love to.”

A blast of red shoots out from his gun, narrowly missing her as she jumps onto one of the roofs. Her lightsabers come to life, beams of white whirl around her as she blocks an onslaught of blaster fire. You want to help her, to take down just even one of the guards, and Mando seems to sense your urgency because he grips onto your arm as a warning. You can’t blow your cover, not yet. The guards need to follow Ahsoka and leave the prisoners alone so you and him can free them.

The Magistrate instructs Lang to take her battle droids with her before turning on her heel and stalking back towards her fortress. She orders the remaining two guards by her side to execute the prisoners. Shrieks and cries fill the air as the prisoners start begging for their lives, and then your feet move before your brain takes notice, running straight for the guards before Mando can pull you back into the shadows.

You come up behind the soldiers, just as one aims their gun to one of the men strung up. Your hand flies to your blaster, unholstering it and shooting him right between the shoulder blades. He cries and falls to the ground with a loud thud. The remaining guard pivots towards you, aiming his own rifle at you but is shot down by Mando before he can pull the trigger.

“You were supposed to wait for my signal,” He hisses through the helmet as he appears from behind one of the houses to join you.

“You were taking too damn long.”

“And why the hell is the safety on your blaster not on?”

Narrowing your eyebrows, your mouth opens to answer but you have trouble finding the words. “Uh—is that _really_ important right now?”

He doesn’t answer, but sighs somewhat angrily. _Okay…_

In the corner of your vision, you see the elderly man from yesterday emerge from one of the huts. Out of reflex, you catch Mando pointing his blaster at him. The man’s palms fly up in defense and freezes. They exchange a series of glances, ending with Mando placing his blaster back in his holster. They make their way to one of the prisoners, trying to gauge how to free him without hurting him or themselves.

The sounds of gunfire in the background catch your attention. Looking over to Mando and the elderly gentlemen, you really want to go out there and fight.

What if Ahsoka needs backup?

Surely, you should help her, right?

Hands fidgeting at your sides, your body _racing_ on adrenaline and the urge to make these soldiers pay for what they’ve done, you take one last glance over to Mando who instinctively looks back at you. By his body language, you know he understands what you want because he squares his shoulders and takes a tentative step towards you. Shaking his head, slowly but nothing shy of authoritative, basically warning you not to go after her. Giving him a shrug and lips forming a tight line, you whip your body towards the sounds of gun fire and disappear into the shadows.

“Get back here!” Mando’s voice come from the commlink on your wrist as you continue zig zagging through the city, following the sound of gunfire. Ignoring him, you turn the volume down on your commlink until it’s fully muted, as to not draw any attention to yourself. Your body is running entirely on the electricity pumping through your bloodstream right now. Senses heightened to a degree you’ve never experienced before. The wind brushing against your hot cheeks, hearing the thumping of your heart in your ears, you feel everything so much stronger, now. Maybe it’s because you’ve never being in such a gritty battle like this, but it’s so much more intense than any spice run you’ve ever done.

Navigating through the huts and keeping yourself hunched over, you look out for any potential threats, coming up on dead-end after dead-end. You’re running out of time, and need to find Ahsoka _now_.

A hand touches down on your shoulder, causing you to gasp a little too loudly. Reaching over your chest and gripping the hand tightly, you twist your body around to face them while pulling downwards on their arm, vibroblade flying into your free hand. Relief overcomes you when you see it’s Ahsoka.

“Felt like you were missing out?”

You give her a smile, tucking the blade back into its strap on your thigh, hand clutching your chest as you try to come down from the sudden alarm. “Little bit.”

The moment is short lived when a blast of red gunfire flies by the back of your head, missing you by only inches. Ahsoka wraps her arm around your back, pushing you behind her as her lightsabers come alight once again, using them to dodge and ricochet incoming fire. As she continues to block blasts, a guard emerges from behind you, giving you only a second of time for your blaster to come out of its holster and into your hand, shooting them down with two blasts. Just as his body hits the ground, a second soldier comes right for you from the left. Your free hand shoots up close to your body, palm facing him. Taking a step forward, your arm straightens out and the power of it sends the guard flying backwards, hearing his skull hit the ground with an echoing crack.

You don’t have time to process it, to think about the fact that you’ve just heard that man’s skull split because you propelled him so aggressively into the ground. Turning your body back towards Ahsoka, she continues to fight off blasts, one of them knocking a lightsaber out of her hand and sending it flying through the air, landing just a couple feet behind you. Without even taking a second to think about it, you dash for the lightsaber, gripping it with your hand just as you fall over onto your stomach. A black gloved hand grabs hold of your shoulder, flipping you onto your back. The man crouches down and presses his body into yours, each leg on either side of your body, pinning you to the ground. You wrestle for a few seconds, dodging some punches but ultimately taking a couple hits to your stomach. All of a sudden, a bright white light nearly blinds you—the lightsaber buzzes to life, and then you’re pushing it in your hand through the man’s chest, screaming as it impales him. The sound of flesh sizzling against the lightsaber makes your skin crawl, never before hearing such a foul noise. _Maker_ , even the smell is agonizing. Something you never thought you’d ever experience. You’ve cauterized wounds before, but that was just kissing the skin. This? Fuck, this went _through_ his body, burning his skin, bones, and whatever organs were in the saber’s way. Ego and pride aside, it makes you nauseous. Pushing his limp body off yours and rising to your feet, the smell still lingering in your nostrils, you attempt to shake it out of your mind and wrench your eyes shut for a moment. This isn’t the time to dwell on things.

Feeling the lightsaber in your hand, something in you changes. Everything stills for a moment. All of the insecurities you had about yourself, the feeling of having lost your way, not knowing which path to choose, it all comes together. The answer is around your fingertips, its power clearing your mind of the questions you so desperately wanted the answers to. For the first time in your entire life, you feel at _peace_ , like you finally found your place in the galaxy.

A new power courses through your veins, enabling you to take down enemy after enemy with Ahsoka’s lightsaber. As you battle in between the huts, your eyes meet hers for a brief moment, and it’s almost like she understands how you’re feeling. After cutting down the last guard, your chest is heaving, body shaking as it burns off the adrenaline that was exuding from your body just seconds ago. You head over to where Ahsoka is standing, a pile of bodies surrounding her. Mindful not to step on anyone, you tiptoe around them and hand her her lightsaber.

“And?” She asks, head cocked to the side.

You can’t even find the words. How can you even describe such a feeling? All your anxieties solved in just one moment. Jaw nearly dropping to the floor, you want to say _something_ but the only thing coming from your mouth is a laugh. Ahsoka smiles back, but it quickly disappears, leaving you to look into her eyes, she seems…sad? You want to ask her what’s wrong, but you table it for another time. 

As you both make your way back to the main street of the village, she treks along the rampart of Elsbeth’s fortress. Once you clock the second gate ahead of you, Ahsoka leaps onto to the top of the wall, leaving you to meet Mando on the main road. Keeping to the shadows of the little houses around you, you see him standing just a few feet shy of the wall, hand hovering over the blaster strapped to his thigh. Towards the end of the cobblestone street is Lang, hands on his rifle.

No one speaks for a moment; Lang’s eyes shift between Mando and Ahsoka who stands at the top of the rampart. Your body is still shielded in the shadows, gauging Lang’s body language; waiting for the right moment to show yourself. Finally, Ahsoka turns her body and jumps into the Magistrate’s home, leaving you, Mando, and Lang behind.

“So, you threw in with the Jedi.”

Taking a quick look around, and noticing you to his right, he answers Lang, “Looks that way.”

 _Maker_ , you’ll never get tired of looking at him. Broad shoulders pushed back so his all-encompassing chest is on full display, practically _toying_ with Lang because he knows they’ve lost, it’s not only intoxicating how much he turns you on, but it’s quite frankly obscene how your pussy gushes at the sight of him. His ability to stay calm, even when he’s seething with anger. It’s easy to get wrapped up in the heat of the moment, but watching Mando in his element, full of gusto and brawn…It’s quite a shock that some people choose to fight a Mandalorian rather than save themselves the trouble and simply surrender.

Sounds of beskar clashing with lightsabers ricochet through the air. Cries from both women pierce your ears. You want to see Ahsoka fight, curious to see how a Jedi battles with a formidable opponent, but you’re too transfixed on Mando right now to tear your eyes away even if for a moment.

“Who do you think’s gonna win?”

Mando doesn’t answer, just stays ever still, his cape flapping in the wind behind him. Lang takes a tentative step forward, and then another, and then another. “Could be your side…” He taunts. “Could be my side.”

He’s getting too close for comfort; you think to yourself. Stepping out from behind one of the homes, you make sure Lang sees you. Squaring your shoulders, you walk over to Mando cautiously, keeping eye contact with Lang the entire time. Once you’re by his side, your arms rest by your thighs, one hand gripping on your blaster.

“Ah, there you are. I was beginning to think that you were left behind… or _dead_ ,” The last word drips from his tongue like venom.

Clamping down hard on your jaw to keep yourself from snapping back, your free hand balls into a fist, white knuckling so aggressively, you’re digging half-moons into your skin.

He takes one more step forward.

“I got no quarrel with you two.”

Another step.

“That’s far enough,” Mando warns, his hand coming up to stop Lang in his tracks.

The Magistrate’s cries blend in with Ahsoka’s. The silence between resonances of weapons colliding become more and more frequent. The fight must be nearing its end.

“You know, we’re a lot more alike than you think.”

What in the _kriffing_ hell is this man talking about? To think that you or Mando could ever be similar to someone like _Lang_ makes you scoff, an empty laugh expelling from the back of your throat.

“All of us, willing to lay out lives for the right cause.” He says orotundly then pauses for a moment, listening to the two women fighting on the other side of the rampart. “Which this is not.”

He can’t honestly think either of you believe him, right?

All of a sudden, you hear the beskar staff hit the ground, bouncing a few times before everything becomes jarringly quiet. Tilting your head slowly in Mando’s direction, his visor keeps to Lang.

“Looks like you guys win.”

Holding out his gun in front of him, he shows you the weapon and ever so slowly places it down on the ground, motioning his surrender. Mando’s hand flexes over the blaster, gauging Lang’s next move. Without skipping a beat, Lang’s hand flies to a blaster at the back of his waist, but before he can even take it out of its holster, Mando’s own gun flies into his hand and shoots him down.

“Did you have your safety on before you shot him down?” You ask sarcastically, darting an eyebrow at him as holsters his weapon.

“Is that really important right now?” He repeats, using that same mocking tone that drives you fucking crazy.

Eyebrows pulling together in a frown and rolling your eyes, you reply, “I hate you,” while also trying to hide the dumbass smile that’s sneaking up on your lips.

The elderly gentlemen, who has apparently been watching you this entire time, emerges from his home. One by one, the villagers come out, stunned that they’re finally free. They cheer and holler, walking over to you both to give their thanks. Seeing the instant smiles on their faces fills you with warmth and pride. All the pain, all the cruelty they were forced to endure is gone. They can live the rest of their lives free of tyranny.

“WATCH OUT!” Someone cries. In a nanosecond, panic sets in, whipping your head in every direction trying to find the threat. Looking at the roofs, there’s the faint silhouette of a battle droid, crawling on one of the homes, its gun aimed right at Mando.

“Mando!” You shout. The droid’s weapon then switches to you, a red beam of light flies from his gun, hitting you right in the shoulder. The force of the hit sends your body flying backwards, landing hard on your back, head smacking the ground hard enough to make you dizzy.

The pain in your shoulder is fucking intense, the smell of sizzling clothes and burnt skin quite literally burning into your nostrils. Hand flying to your shoulder and pressing down on the wound to ease the bleeding and hopefully the pain, you realize your shoulder has been taking quite the hit lately. First the bruise, now a fucking gash.

Mando rushes to your side, holding the back of your head with one hand as he eases you to sit upright.

“Are you okay?” Baritone pulling rough through the helmet, panic sits at the back of his throat. The hand cradling the back of your head travels down to your lower back, the other reaching for your hand that’s keeping pressure on the place where the droid hit you.

Unable to answer, you groan low in your throat and gesture that you’ll be fine with a simple nod of the head. When you finally look over to Mando through hooded lids, the corners of your lips curl upwards in an attempt to prove to him that you’re fine. Folding your legs at the knees and using his forearm to pull you to your feet, he helps you stand up, keeping his hand on the small of your back the entire time.

“ _Kriff_ , that hurt.” You groan through jagged breaths. When your hand finally moves away from the injury on your shoulder, you peek down to see just how badly you were hit.

Thankfully, it’s actually not that bad. There is a gash where the blast connected with skin, but the bleeding has stopped significantly, although your tunic and hand are drenched with blood. You could probably cauterize it right away to close up the wound and then put some bacta on it once you get back to the Crest.

Mando’s still holding you. It’s like he’s too scared to let you go, like he needs to protect you and the only way he can think of doing it is to keep holding you. In any other moment, you’d be absolutely loving this, but right now? His body heat mixed with the fervor and throbbing from the gash near your clavicle is making you _burn_ up. It’s when you finally take a step forward that his arm falls back to his side, fist balling up like he’s fighting the urge to keep you in his reach.

“The droid dead?” You manage to say through winces of pain, hunching over.

“Yeah.” He says breathlessly.

“Okay, good.”

As more and more villagers approach you both, they continue to give you their appreciation and continuously asking if there’s anything they can do to thank you. An elderly woman even retreats back to her home and comes out just a few minutes later with a medpac for your gash. Initially, you reject her kind offer, insisting that you can wait till you’re back on the ship for your wound to be taken care of, but after she continue to argue that you should accept a bit of help, you take it graciously. They seat you down on one of the cobblestoned steps, and begin wiping away at the dried blood, trying to be mindful not to touch the actual wound.

“We can’t thank you enough,” She says kindly.

“You’re— _ah shit_ —” You try to thank her, but despite her best efforts, you’re still in quite a tremendous amount of pain. “Sorry. It’s our pleasure, really.” 

Once she’s done cleaning up the blood, you look down at your shoulder to see that the wound isn’t even as big as you initially thought. The blood splattered around your shoulder had made it seem much worse than it actually was. It’s barely the size of a Calamari Flan coin. It’ll definitely scar, but it’s nothing you can’t handle.

“Your husband doesn’t ever take his helmet off?” She asks, trying to keep you distracted as she begins to spray bacta on it.

Completely taken aback by the word ‘husband’, you blurt out a laugh. “Husband? Oh no, he’s not my husband. We’re just…” Your voice trails off because in truth, you have no idea what your relationship to Mando is anymore. It doesn’t seem appropriate to say that you two are friends because your relationship has certainly developed passed that, but to go so far as to say you’re… _together_ doesn’t really seem to fit your situation either.

“Oh, my apologies.” Shaking her head like she’s embarrassed by assuming the nature of your relationship, you place a hand over hers and smile.

“It’s okay. No need to apologize.”

“I just assumed that because of the way he was so concerned for your health after getting shot by that droid…”

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you mull over how Mando held onto you for a lot longer than he needed to when you finally got to your feet. How he stood so close to you, even when you assured him you were okay. How he still looks over to you every couple of minutes while he talks to Ahsoka, like he _needs_ to watch over you.

You watch as Ahsoka hands the staff over to Mando, who seems to hesitate to accept it at first, but is eventually persuaded to take it. He takes a moment to speak into his commlink, your wrist comes alive to the sound of his voice.

“I’ll be back in a moment. Will you be okay here, alone?”

You can’t help the smile that forms on your lips, and you attempt to hide it by biting down on your lip. Bringing your wrist up to your lips, you press on the talking button on the comm, “Yes, I’ll be fine, Mando.”

As Mando disappears into the forest, Ahsoka makes her way over to you, just as the elder is finished addressing your wound. She’s put a bacta patch on your laceration now, its cooling sensation untensing your muscles and relaxing you almost instantly.

“Thank you.”

She grabs your hand with both of hers, giving you a gentle squeeze before letting you go, and hobbling back over to her home.

The city is full of life now, residents cheering and conversating. The children are running around, laughing and shouting with joy, even kicking a ball around the main cobblestoned road. It’s such a stark contrast from the city you and Mando had entered just two days ago.

Pushing yourself up to your feet, you pat the dust and dirt off your pants and face Ahsoka.

“How the shoulder?” She asks.

“I’ll be fine. It was barely a scratch.” You joke. She laughs in response. The first moment of genuine happiness you’ve seen on her face since you two met.

You both begin to take a leisure stroll through the village, noting how different the villagers seem now the Magistrate is gone. It’s such a fulfilling moment for you. For most of your life, you’ve behaved selfishly, usually only caring about yourself and doing whatever was in ever was in your own self-interest, and now you’ve just helped hundreds of people. You don’t want to put yourself on a pedestal, but if you’re being entirely transparent, you’re pretty proud of the change that’s happening to you. This? You could get used to this.

“If I did want to train…”

Ahsoka turns her head to face you once you address her. “Yes?”

“Like…How would I go about doing that?”

She stops walking, looking down at the ground. “You need to learn to control your emotions before you can even think of training. You’re pretty reckless.” Her voice stays kind, but she’s very much warning you of the difficult road ahead if you choose to go down this path. “I worry that your own attachment to the Mandalorian will be your undoing.”

You could argue with her, you could say that there is no such attachment, but if you were to be completely honest with yourself, you’d be lying if you said there wasn’t _something_ there. It’s almost unbelievable to come to terms with the fact that you’ve developed some kind of connection with him, especially when you used to pride yourself on the idea that you had transformed into the type of person that did _not_ become invested in someone else but Mando is different. He’s unlike anyone you’ve ever met.

He’s full of mystery. An enigma that you could learn about every day for the rest of your life and never even scratch the surface. Mando can be cold and callous in one moment, then tender and kind in the next. It quite literally makes your head spin. He can be so distant, and then all of a sudden, he can’t bear to be away from you. The inability to know what he’s thinking or what he wants just reels you in even more. You want to know everything about him, to feel like you’re a part of him, that you’re more than just someone passing through his life.

“Surely, the two can coexist?”

Ahsoka doesn’t respond right away. Her eyes leave you to look up at the sky, as if searching the clouds for help. “Asking that question just proves that you aren’t ready to train. Attachments clouds the ability to see reason. If you let your attachments control you, you can never act solely based on the good for all. You’ll always put your loved ones first, and that’s something the Jedi do not do.” 

Your lips press into a thin line.

“If you want this, you have to realize what you’ll be giving up. What you’ll end up denying yourself later on.” Her voice is almost a whisper. “There will come a time when you’ll need to make a choice. To embrace the way of the Jedi, or walk away forever.”

“It’s just…” You begin shifting, pacing around as the words come to you. “Ahsoka, the darkness I feel inside me? It scares me, like I’m never actually in control of it.”

“The Dark Side is powerful. It’s something you’ll fight your entire life as a Jedi, but it’ll become easier to deal with as the training progresses.”

“When I held your lightsaber…” Voice trailing off, you let out a small chuckle. Her lips curl into a smile, she knows the feeling all too well.

“I know.”

As you both stand at the gates of the village, the newly appointed Magistrate—the old man that aided Mando in rescuing the hostages, approaches you both, smiling from ear to ear.

“Thank you again for saving the village.” His eyes are kind, the wrinkles on his forehead giving you an insight as to the many years of injustices and struggles he’s had to face, as well as the hope he’s held that his people would one day be free once again.

Dipping your head downward, he grabs your hand in his, shaking it twice before turning to Ahsoka. “The New Republic will be here soon for Ms. Elsbeth. If there’s anything else you’d like to question her about, now would be the time.”

“Mando should be here by now…” You remark, noticing that it’s been too long since he left.

Ahsoka nods in agreement. “Go. I’ll catch up with you.” She doesn’t wait for your response before following the Magistrate back into the city walls.

During the walk back to the Crest, you continue to go over everything Ahsoka’s told you over the last two days, weighting out your options. You’re not like Mando. You’re not a Mandalorian, nor are you a bounty hunter, so naturally you couldn’t expect to stick with Mando once you get all of this figured out. Going back to spice seems irresponsible, given that you know you were destined for something better. Moreover, now that you know why you’re different, it would see inappropriate to ignore that side of you and continue to live a life where your powers were wasted. Maybe this is something you could discuss with Mando. Maybe he’ll offer a different view that you hadn’t thought of before.

When you catch sight of the Crest, you suddenly feel a bit nervous, almost shy. You can hear the pounding of your heart in your ears as you near the ship, and clutch your chest with your hands when you see what’s happening inside the ship.

Mando’s sitting by his cot, one leg resting on the edge of the bed, Grogu seated on his thigh, and speaking gently to him. Even if you tried not to get sentimental about it, you’d never get tired of seeing how endearing Mando is with the Child. Every moment is more precious than the last, warming your heart and making you fall for the Mandalorian even more. You know he doesn’t need it, but you want to protect them both—to keep them both safe from anyone who would ever try to harm them, and on some level, you think Mando would do the same.

“Hey,” You announce as you get closer to the edge of the ramp, making your presence known so that he hopefully doesn’t think you spent the last minute gawking at them during their little intimate moment.

As you approach them, Mando rises to his feet and walks over to you, holding Grogu with both arms. “How are you feeling?” He asks.

“Much better. The bacta really helped,” You answer, keeping your voice low as to not wake him. Grogu’s eyes flutter open, head tilting to the side when he sees you.

“Hi, little guy.” Your index finger gently _boops_ him on the nose, causing him to giggle in Mando’s arms. Although you don’t know for sure, you have an inclination that Mando’s watching you, and when you look up away from Grogu, sure enough the eye slit in his helmet is pointed at you.

“You’re like a father to him.”

Your turn your body around and see Ahsoka standing at the end of the ship, arms crossed against her chest. Mando heads down the ramp first, and you follow closely behind him.

“I cannot train him.” She says, a bit of disappointment hidden in her voice.

“We had a deal, and _we_ held up our end.”

Letting out a deep breath, Ahsoka takes a step towards Mando and takes Grogu’s little hand in hers, rubbing her thumb across his tiny claws.

“There is one possibility.”

“We’re all ears,” You reply.

“Have you heard of the planet Tython?”

“No.” Mando answers dryly.

“It has a strong connection to the Force. There you will find the ancient ruins of a Temple atop one of the mountains. Place Grogu on the seeing stone and wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“For Grogu to choose his path. If he reaches out through the Force, there is a chance that a Jedi might sense him and come searching for him.” She looks down at the ground for a moment, before pulling her eyes away from the dirt to look at you. “Then again, there aren’t many Jedi left.”

“Thank you.” He answers sincerely, then turns on his heel and heads back into the Crest.

You take a step towards Ahsoka and wrap your arms around her, giving her a gentle squeeze before pulling again. “I hope our paths cross again.”

“This will not only be a test for Grogu, but for you as well. You _will_ need to make a choice.”

“I know…”

Her head dips down, offering you a farewell smile. “May the Force be with you.”

Heading back into the ship and closing the ramp, you hear the Crest’s thrusters come to life, finally feeling like you now have a purpose.

\--

“Do we have enough fuel to make to it to Tython?”

“We’ll have enough to get there, but not enough to leave. We’ll have to make a stop beforehand to refuel.”

Mando punches in some coordinates and activates the hyperdrive. You look out through the transparisteel and watch the stars change from small specks in space to giant rays of light as you beam passed them, and then cockpit is surrounded by waves of baby blues similar to the waters on Naboo.

“Hey, where are we headed?” You ask once Mando rises from the pilot’s chair.

“You ever been to Coruscant?”

 _Fuck._ “There’s nowhere else we can go?”

He walks over to where you’re still seated. At this angle, your eyeline is pointing right at… _that_. Trying to look anywhere but there, you opt to tilt your head at high as it can go so you can look at Mando in the ‘T’ of his visor. _Maker,_ don’t you dare even peak down there.

“Is there a problem with going there?” He asks in jest, head tilting ever so slowly to the side. When you don’t immediately answer, he takes an excruciatingly slow step forward. He’s now almost touching your knees with his, making it even more difficult not to look down and catch sight of his— _kriff_ , pull yourself together!

“No—” You squeak, your voice embarrassingly high. “I mean,” Clearing your throat in an effort for it to go back down to its normal octave. “No, that’s fine.”

Mando hums smugly in his helmet before disappearing through the cockpit door and descending down the ladder.

Uh… what the hell was that about? Was Mando acting…coy? No, surely you were misreading things. He’s not like that. He doesn’t joke around or act smug…right?

_Sleep._

You should get some sleep.

Shifting around in your unbearably uncomfortable chair until you’re in a somewhat comfortable position—which is just you sitting upright in the chair with your leg crossed over the other, you fold your arms across your lap and close your eyes, hoping it won’t take long for you to fall asleep.

You can hear a light scuffle in the hull, and you try to ignore it, but now that you’re aware of the sound, it’s impossible for you to ignore it and try to get some sleep. All you can focus on is trying to ignore the sound which just makes the noise that much louder. Letting out a groan in annoyance, you move around even more in your seat hoping you’ll be able to find some kind of position that’s more comfortable, but to no avail.

Not only is the noise annoy the hell out of you, but you’re completely hung up on your interaction with Mando just a few moments ago. He usually doesn’t get that close to you unless he thinks you’ve been injured, but there he was, willingly getting closer and closer. Actually, it seemed like he was _enjoying_ watching you squirm and get frazzled by how close he was to you.

Just when the sound stops, you hear heavy boots hit the metal rungs of the ladder. _Great_ , he’s coming back.

You sense Mando reach the top of the ladder before you see him. Although, he doesn’t directly step into the cockpit. After a couple seconds of still not seeing him, you look over your shoulder to see where he might be, but you end up craning your neck to an uncomfortable amount and still no sight of him.

 _Fuck it_. You jump to your feet and face the door to the cockpit, and see him standing like a goddamn statue. He’s still in full armour, but you definitely notice something different about him. His fists are balled up together at his sides, black eye slit pointed directly at you, and by the way his shoulders rise and fall, his breathing is uneven. As your eyes travel downwards from his helmet down to his feet, you can’t help but notice the bulge in his pants. _Shit_.

Your mouth instantly goes dry, your own heartrate picking up slowly, heating pooling in your belly. This isn’t the first time you’ve both been in this exact situation. It happened before on Sorgan, but somehow this is a hundred times more intense. Maybe it’s because of the rush from today, maybe it’s because you’ve tasted him before, but whatever was on your mind right before this moment is totally gone.

Right now, you can feel the blood pounding in your ears, you can _feel_ the fucking heat radiating off Mando, your panties sticking to you like glue because of your slick, causing your pussy to fucking throb.

You want to say something snarky, but words are something you’re not even able to come up with, you’re so fucking spellbound by him that nothing in this galaxy could pull you away. He’s got you entirely wrapped around his leather finger and he hasn’t even said a word to you.

A broken moan forms at the back of Mando’s throat, coming out rough and distorted. It reminds you of his sobs the night his cock was wrapped around your lips. You want to run to him, feel his big arms pull you closer to him, but you need to know he wants this as badly as you do, so you wait. You wait for him to speak, to make the first move.

“I—” His voice is barely above a whisper, like he’s struggling to find the words.

“Tell me what you want, Mando.” You say breathlessly.

He takes a step towards you, and your breath catches in your throat. His own chest is heaving, his quick breaths cutting through his helmet. “Fuck.”

Realizing how hard this must be for him—admitting how he feels, you step closer to him. Now, you’re just arm’s length away. If one of you reached out, you’d touch the other and it’s becoming more difficult with every second that goes by not to jump into his arms, rip that helmet off his face and kiss every inch of his skin, but you won’t. You would never touch him in a way that would compromise his creed.

“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve thought about bending you over that control panel and fucking you until you begged me to stop?” He nearly growls. Voice so rough and low, you can’t stop the moan that escapes your lips.

Your pussy gushes in response. “ _Maker_ …”

He inches closer to you, taking his sweet, agonizing time as he continues to taunt you. “I’ve thought about it ever since I picked you up on Kijimi.”

Another inch.

“I thought about it in the alley with my hand touching your drenched, sweet cunt.”

Another inch.

“I thought about pulling you off my cock and pounding into you right against that wall.”

The heat coiling in your stomach is so fucking intense, you can feel it all over your body. Your heart is thumping against your ribcage, jaw slacked so you can breathe in quick little bursts of air. He’s standing merely inches away from you, and you want to reach out and touch him. You want him inside you, but you’re frozen, unable to move. Unable to break free from the trance he’s put you in. All you can do is stand there helplessly as he continues to torture you with his confessions.

“But I was able to control myself.” He grits out, head tilting ever so slowly to the side.

“Mmm…” Is all you can say. Your mind is on fire, your body’s on fire. Everything’s fucking on fire.

“I don’t think I can control myself anymore.”

Only one word comes to mind now. Once you say it, your relationship to the Mandalorian will never be the same **.** It’ll definitely make it harder to choose between Mando and following the way of the Jedi but quite frankly, right now, you really don’t give a shit. You want this. You want Mando, and nothing is going to come between you and him. “Good.”

Finally, he closes the tiny gap between your bodies and wraps a big arm around the small of your back, spinning you around and pushing you up against the door to the cockpit. You yelp at his swiftness when you feel metal hit your back, but it’s still not fast enough.

You want more.

You _need_ more.

“Mando…” You moan helplessly.

The shakiness of his breath, _kriff,_ you really want to drop to your knees and make him feel so good. His hands try to touch every part of you. They settle on your waist and he flips you around. Your face nearly smacks into the door but you’re able to catch yourself before your cheek makes contact, hands bracing up against the wall. He grinds his hips into yours, and you feel the outline of his cock nuzzle against your backside.

“If I’m too rough…” He begins to say, but you cut him off before he can finish his sentence. “I’m not fragile, Mando. Do what you want with me.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” He punches out, fist hitting the door in front of you. “Y-you can’t say things like that to me.”

“I want you to,” You make sure to drawl out your words, to make sure he really hears you, so that he knows you want this just as badly as he does.

The sound that comes next is almost animalistic. It’s somewhere between a cry and a snarl, but it’s the sweetest, most arousing sound you’ve ever heard. It’ll be something you replay over and over in your mind.

His hands travel down to your hips, grabbing onto the waistband of your pants and yanking them down in one swift motion. A brown leather glove flies to your throat, using his thumb and index finger to press on that sweet spot right under your jawline. You sob brokenly as he continues to apply more pressure on your neck, but still gentle enough for you to know he’ll never actually hurt you.

“M-Ma-n-ndo…” You manage to choke out.

Mando hums in the back of his throat, pressing his body into you even more. His cock is rock hard in his pants, and your hands leave the wall to fumble around behind you, trying to touch him. With his free hand, he grabs hold of both your wrists and holds them in place behind you. “Let me take care you, pretty girl.” He purrs, his baritone dangerously low.

When his hand leaves your throat, you whine at the sudden lack of pressure. Cupping your jaw, he drags his thumb across your bottom lip, your tongue darts out and tastes leather. Two fingers force themselves into your mouth, and Mando growls into your ear. “Bite.”

You obey like the good girl you are, biting and tugging on the glove until it comes right off his hand. He takes it from you and tosses it on the ground, revealing his beautifully tanned skin. It’s a little embarrassing how just the sight of his hand makes your pussy pulse, but everything about Mando draws you in. His smell, his stoic demeanor, even his fucking hand.

As his naked hand travels back down your body, fingertips barely touching your tunic, it’s driving you crazy. He’s taking his sweet ass time, reveling in the fact that he has you completely spell bound against him. You can’t move, you can’t shift under him and create more friction for yourself. No, you’re going at _his_ pace, which is making you fucking dizzy.

When his hand reaches the edge of your underwear, sending shivers down straight to your throbbing cunt, your body is basically shaking from the lack and overwhelming amount of stimulation all at once. It’s too much, yet it’s nowhere near enough. A thumb begins to trace the skin around the waistband of your underwear, tantalizing you. Your broken sobs echo through the cockpit, and then in a second, his hand pushes passed the thin material and cups your sex.

“ _Fuck!”_ You cry out.

“Look how wet you are, and I’ve barely touched you,” He whispers.

Pushing your ass out and rubbing against his cock, you feel him twitch in his pants as you continue to tease him. The hand on your cunt disappears and wraps itself around your throat again, pressing into your flesh just enough for you to stop grinding your hips. When Mando speaks next, he growls through gritted teeth. “Do that again, and I’m stopping. Do you understand?”

Your throat is dangerously dry, and all you can do is moan in response.

“No, pretty girl. I need you to use your words. Do you understand?” He says again, this time in a much gentler tone, but without relinquishing any of his control over you.

“Yes,” You whisper breathlessly.

“ _Good girl_ ,” He praises, and then his hand is back on your pussy. His fingers rub between your folds, sending shockwaves through your body as he starts collecting your slick on his calloused fingertips, and then he’s rubbing tight, quick circles around your clit. You mewl helplessly into the door, forehead pressed against door with such force, it’s actually starting to hurt, but in the best way possible. You wouldn’t dare move from the spot you’re in right now, not when Mando continues his agonizingly slow assault on your bud.

“I’m going to let go of your wrists now,” He begins to instruct, his head resting on your left shoulder. “And you’re going to be a good girl and keep them there, right?”

Your orgasm begins to build in your stomach, the rhythm on your clit never faltering. “Y-y-yes,” You answer, voice hoarse and barely audible.

Letting go of your wrists, you do as you were told and keep them behind you on the small of your back. You hear him fumble with his utility belt and pants. Panting and having to manually control your breathing because air just isn’t fucking coming into your lungs fast enough, your body starts to shake from the white-hot pleasure, causing your hands to clench violently. Mando thrusts his body against you once again, almost flattening you on the door, but now you feel his free cock pressing between your ass, feeling drops of precome graze your skin.

His hand _drenched_ in your slick, you’re on the verge of coming. Breathing picking up even more, he must sense you’re close because his rhythm gets quicker and quicker, nearly pushing you over the edge.

“I’m g-gonna c-come, Mando.”

“Already? Hmm,” He hums proudly. A gloved hand comes up to your throat, using his thumb and index to choke you again. The pressure on your throat and cunt is making your head fucking spin. It’s too much all at once, your orgasm teetering right now. This is so much more intense than anything you’ve ever experienced.

“Come for me,” He commands gently in your ear.

Head lulling back, your knees are about to give out, but he never stops. He develops a pattern now, rubbing even tighter circles on your clit and then brushing his fingers through your soaking folds, then back to your bud.

“ _Fuck fuck, fuck_ , Mando!” You cry out as your orgasm rips through you, sending waves of ecstasy through your entire body. He doesn’t stop though. As you cry out, riding out your climax, he slams his gloved hand over your mouth, muffling your cries; still continuing his pace between your thighs. Practically convulsing from the overstimulation, your knees almost completely cave in, and you almost feel your body going limp, but Mando keeps you steady.

“Such a good fucking girl.” He praises.

You don’t even have time to come down from your climax before he’s thrusting a thick finger _allll_ the way inside of you. Flexing it in and out of your pussy and body trembling, if you don’t grab onto something, you’re sure you’ll drop to the ground. Broken sobs stifled by leather, feeling the corners of your eyes getting wet with tears, your mind is going fucking blank. _Maker_ , the Mandalorian is going to be the death of you.

Pushing a second finger into you, your eyes wrench shut. He eases them in and out of you at a deliciously slow rate, sometimes choosing to roll his fingers inside you before pulling out. One of your hands grabs onto his vambrace, using that as a means of staying upright because you’re hanging on by a thread right now. This is the most intense feeling you’ve ever experienced. No one has ever even come close to making you feel the way Mando is, and you’ll never be able to be with anyone else after this. He hasn’t even fucked you yet, but you’re literally coming apart under him. He pushes two gloved fingers inside your mouth and orders you to bite down again. You do as your told and his hand yanks free of the glove, tossing it to the ground like he did with the other glove.

His precome continues to paint your back and backside, and you start begging and pleading.

“Please, Mando…”

“Please what?” He asks, and then he’s fucking _curling_ his fingers inside you, hitting that sweet spot that makes you see stars. You cry out again, feeling a second orgasm bubbling to the surface.

“Please, f-fuc-c-k me. Please, Mando I _need_ you inside me.”

“ _Mmmm_ ,” He drones deep in his throat. Flexing his fingers inside you once more time before pulling out, you feel suddenly empty.

Need more.

 _Need_ more.

Using the slick he’s gathered on his hand, you look over your shoulder and can barely make out him smearing it all over his thick length. “Gonna make you feel so good, pretty girl. Gonna fill you up, and fuck that pretty cunt of yours until you can’t fucking walk.”

All you can do is mewl back, a broken sound that he barely notices. Mando grabs hold of the waistband of your underwear and pulls them down to your knees. One hand digging into your waist, the other holding his length, he starts to rub his cock between your sopping folds, gathering even more slick. Once he seems satisfied hearing your broken sobs, he angles himself to your entrance, and pushes just the tip into you.

 _Kriff_ , you’re not even sure if you’ll be able to take all of him.

He stills for a moment, and then he’s back to pushing himself against your cunt.

Fucking unbelievable.

Mando’s teasing you, getting off on the sweet torture he’s putting you through. Every time you think he’s about to fill you up, he pulls away and continues to toy with you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge, but then pulling away at the last second.

“Mando!” You whimper.

“ _Shhh_ …” He scolds, giving you gentle slap on your left buttcheek. “I want to take my time.”

He continues his gradual onslaught, and then finally, he’s lining up his cock with your pussy, and ever so _slooowly_ eases an inch of himself in your entrance.

Maker, he’s huge. Even with just an inch inside of you, he fills you up, your walls clamping around him in an attempt to stop him from pulling away again **.** “ _Fuuck_.” He drawls out through shuddered breaths. “You’re tight, pretty girl.”

You don’t answer because you can’t. Words are no longer a thing inside your mind. Just Mando.

“You’re _mine_.” He snarls, pushing another inch of himself inside you.

Something like a sob escapes your lips.

“No one else will ever get to touch you like this.”

Another painful inch. You can feel the veins around his girth pushing against your walls. 

“I’ll kill anyone who comes close to you, do you understand me?” Mando doesn’t wait for an answer, just continues to push himself more and more into your pulsating cunt. He must be almost fully inside you now. It burns, almost painful. It’s uncomfortable but it’s so fucking good, it feels so fucking amazing to be filled up by the Mandalorian. A delicious pain you’ll be thinking about for days.

With both hands on your hips, he seems to lose control for a second because the next thing you know, he stills for a moment, his helmet dropping to rest in between your shoulders, and then he’s grinding even more of himself into you. Kriff, how fucking big is he?

When Mando finally fucking _pounds_ into you, hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision go blank, you scream out, feeling completely stuffed to the brim. “Fuck!”

He’s so much bigger than you thought. Your walls flex around him, your pussy is on fucking fire right now, pain and pleasure mixed together to form a delicious cocktail, you’re drunk on this feeling. Mando widens his stance to steady himself, and pulls out just enough for only the tip of his head touching your walls and then slams into you so hard, your entire body flattens against the door, his cuirass digging into your back.

“Ah shit!” He swears breathlessly. Mando’s barely began fucking you, and a second orgasm is seconds away from unleashing electricity through your entire core.

“I can feel you clenching around my cock, sweet girl. Are you going to come again?” He taunts deliciously, pulling out once more and snapping back into you with such force, it blinds you momentarily. Bending your knees and using one his hands to push down on your back so you’re arched with your ass out—almost sitting back on his cock, he wraps a hand around your throat and begins pounding into you like an animal. The sound of skin slapping skin pierces through the cockpit, you can’t even make a sound. Your pussy clenches once again, climax nearing.

Two rough fingers find their way to your clit, and rub tight circles on your bud, the sounds of his length thrusting in and out of you are downright obscene.

“Be a good girl and come for me again,” He orders, voice so deliciously low in your ear. You last only a couple more seconds before a second orgasm rips right into you. White-hot pleasure tears through you, the ecstasy so intense, tears are streaming down your face at a constant rate. He doesn’t relent, just continues to plow into you over and over and over again.

“Fu-ck, you feel so _fucking_ good. I’m g-gonna, _shit_ , I’m gonna c-come.” He pants, his rhythm beginning to falter as he approaches his own climax. “Wh-ere should I…?”

“ _Inside_ …please.” You choke out.

“ _Kriff,_ are, a-are you sure?” He punches out, thrusting deeper into you between each word. 

“Im—implant,” Is all you can manage to say, but it seems to be enough for Mando, because he uses the remaining strength he has to pound into you a few more times before his own orgasm hits him.

“F-fuck, pretty girl.” He grits out as his cock starts pumping his seed into your worn-out, swollen cunt. He sheathes himself one more time, reaching that sweet spot inside you before ever so slowly starting to ease out of you. Being the brat you are, using all the strength you can muster—which isn’t very much right now, you fiercely clench around his cock, causing Mando to cry out in the back of his throat.

“Maker, you don’t want me to leave, do you?” He says, shuddering but ending with a soft chuckle. “Well go on then, squeeze out every bit of come out of my cock like a good fucking girl.”

And so you do. You continue to squeeze down on his length, milking every single drop of his seed until you feel it trinkle down your legs. As soon as his hands leave your body, your knees cave in and you double over, nearly falling right on the cold metal floor, but Mando manages to wrap an arm around your waist before you do, holding you upright. Lifting you off your feet, he pulls you close to his chest, hooking his arms under your legs and around your back. Instinctively, you wrap your arms around his neck and lean your cheek against his cuirass. Beskar cools the heat on your face, and you swear you could fall asleep right now in his arms. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, nostrils filling up with the smell of sex and gunpowder, your eye flutter shut, feeling the exhaustion hit you all at once.

“Hey, don’t fall asleep yet.” Baritone low and gentle. “We need to get you cleaned up first.”

“Mmm,” You mumble in protest. “ ‘M gonna sleep here.”

“Hey,” He repeats, this time more commanding. “You’ll need to climb down the ladder, can you do that?”

Pouting and wanting to resist, but knowing Mando won’t take no for an answer, you give in. “Fine,” You answer, petulantly.

He puts you down gently, making sure that when your feet touch the ground, you’re able to stand up straight on your own. He pulls your underwear and pants back up from your knees. His come mixed with yours sticks to your underwear, and you hate to admit it, but he’s right. You definitely need to clean yourself up before falling asleep. Legs still buckling, Mando opens the cockpit doors and heads down the ladder first.

“Okay, come down.” He whispers kindly.

Kriff, your whole body is shaking. You’re not sure if you’ll be able to make it down those stairs without falling back. As you begin to descend the ladder, your grip on the rung loosens and you slip. Thankfully, Mando’s waiting at the bottom of the ladder and catches you in his arms before you could hurt yourself. Leaning on his pauldron is the only way you’re able to stand up, so you continue to lean into him as he guides you over to the fresher.

“Will you be able to clean yourself up?”

Looking up at the visor through hooded lids, you nod your head slowly. The possibility of you falling asleep in the fresher is very real, but you could _try_ not to…

“Dank farrik…” He swears to himself. Mulling over his options with your half-asleep body leaning into him, he must realize there’s only one option available. “You’ll have to keep your eyes closed the entire time, okay?”

You look up at him sheepishly. “Okay.”

“I mean it,” He repeats. “You can’t—”

“I won’t look, Mando. You can trust me.”

A drawn-out sigh emits from the helmet, but he seems to be satisfied enough with your comment. Keeping yourself steady by holding down on his pauldrons, you watch as he carefully begins to remove your pants and underwear, gently telling you to step out of them and tossing them to the side.

“Lift your arms,”

He pulls your tunic over your head, and even though you’re absolutely wrecked and exhausted, being completely naked in front of the Mandalorian while he stands there, fully clothed and wearing his armour, you begin to feel a bit self-conscious, and try to cover up your body with your hands and arms.

“What…are you doing?” He asks, head tilting to the side.

“Feel so exposed,” You mutter.

“Now you feel exposed? Not when my cock was inside you?” He jests.

“Mmm, that was before.”

Mando sighs once again, the sound breaking apart like static through his helmet. “Get in the fresher, I’ll be there soon.”

“M’okay.”

Turning around sleepily, you head into the refresher and turn the water on. _Kriff_ , it feels good. Standing directly under the hose, you let the water cascade down your body, closing your eyes and enjoying the warmth that tickles your skin.

“Okay, eyes closed,” Mando says, voice no longer modulated by his helmet. Maker, his voice is heavenly. Curse the helmet he wears, covering up a sound as sweet as Mando’s voice. Smooth like silk, you wish you could listen to him for hours, undistorted and naked. Keeping your promise, your eyes wrench shut, palms coming out trying to find him in the small space you’re both sharing. You feel his hands meet yours, your own feels so small in his. Calloused fingers trail up your arm, causing goosebumps to form on your skin and you purr into him.

And then, he’s gently massaging the bar of soap across your body, ridding your body of the grime and sweat from the day. It’s ridiculously intimate, and it’s actually quite surprising how gentle he’s handling you, given the fact that he kills people with those same hands, but it’s incredibly endearing. The entire time he cleans you up, your hands are resting on his broad shoulders. Suddenly, you feel him get closer to you, and you’re forced to back up, feeling the wall touch your bare back. Mando leans forward and presses his forehead against yours. You need to crane your head upwards to meet his, but it’s not uncomfortable. This is probably the first time his face has been touched by another being since…well you’re not sure when because you’ve never actually asked him when the last time he took his helmet off was, but you assume it’s been years.

“When’s the last time you took off your helmet in front of another person?” Your voice is barely above a whisper, not only because your vocal cords are shot from all the obscene noises you made before, but also because you’re scared that if you speak too loudly, he’ll dismiss your question.

“I was just a child.”

“You don’t ever want to show your face?”

The water trinkles over both your faces and bodies, hands carded together.

“This is the Way.” He answers plainly, but you sense a bit of uncertainty in the way he speaks. It’s almost like he’s lost the true reason for covering his face—that there came a time in his life where he began to question his Creed, but still feels like he has an obligation to adhere to it.

You want to see his face. There are so many questions that you wish you had the answers to.

Do the corners of his eyes wrinkle when he laughs?

Does he have any scars or dimples?

Have the many years of fighting and surviving aged his face beyond his actual age?

What color are his eyes?

You’re not sure if you’ll ever know the answers to those questions, but truthfully, it doesn’t really matter. You don’t need to know all those aspects of him because they’re simply just arbitrary details. Everything that you really need to know, you’re already aware of.

And what you know is, you’re in love with a Mandalorian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mandah-lorian.tumblr.com


End file.
